The Bunny Boy
by asecondgrace
Summary: Today is the first day of the rest of Blaine's (after)life.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Bunny Boy (1/6)

**Rating: **R, for language, violence, sexual and thematic content

**Word Count: **5,400

**Warnings: **Death. Murder. Suicide. Violence both cartoonish and not. A lot of people die in a lot of different ways, and some may seem more tragic than others.

**Summary: **Today is the first day of the rest of Blaine's (after)life.

**Notes: **This AU is loosely based on the series "Dead Like Me," but takes liberties with the mythology for sake of consistency and story. Undying gratitude to Andrea for helping me breathe life into it, and to Christine for helping me make sure everything was where it should be.

_"I've come to ask if you would like to join my Owsla. We shall be glad to have you, and I know you'd like it. You've been feeling tired, haven't you? If you're ready, we might go along now._

_You needn't worry about them. They'll be alright, and thousands like them. If you'll come along, I'll show you what I mean." - _**_'Watership Down,'_**by Richard Adams

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(•ㅅ•}

Once upon a time, there was the Fantastic Forest in which all creatures lived in love and harmony. There was Sycamore Squirrel, who hid her tender heart behind a mask of melancholy, and Rocky Raccoon, who was smarter than anyone ever was before. There were the bear twins, Bumble and Tumble, whose knack for making mischief was matched only by their willingness to help those in need. The Fantastic Forest was filled with all these creatures and more, but none were so loved as Briarpatch Bunny.

Briarpatch Bunny was not as smart as Rocky, and he was not as funny as the twins. What Briarpatch did have was a heart like none had ever seen, and an unfailing enthusiasm to go with it. He was always there for anyone who needed a friend, and no one could imagine the Fantastic Forest without him. He was its heart, its soul, and the embodiment of everything that made it what it was.

All over the world, the stories of the Fantastic Forest were told to boys and girls as they lay tucked inside their beds, stuffed bunnies held to their chests as sleep crept in. For years, it was only through these books and the resulting dreams that one could gain entry to the forest, until one day, a very un-magical man brought it to life in the least magical-seeming of places.

And so the story of the Bunny Boy begins.

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(•ㅅ•}

Blaine bounced around inside his costume as the chanting on the other side of the curtain grew louder. _"Briarpatch! Briarpatch!"_ the children in the audience said in unison, their excitement thick and palpable in the air.

The giant squirrel beside him shook its head, leaning back with arms crossed against its chest. "Will you listen to that? They know you're just a guy in a costume, right?"

"So what if they don't?" Blaine asked, turning to face the squirrel. "They're kids. What's wrong with letting them have a little fantasy?"

The squirrel's head lifted just long enough for a woman to wipe at a face the same soft shade of brown as her costume's fur. Her skin was smooth and her face quite lovely if you didn't look too hard at the weight around her tired eyes. "They've already got Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. This damn park is just another thing their parents have to dig out their wallets for if they don't want their kids to sit and cry that Mommy doesn't love them enough to let them meet their favorites."

"And you're bringing Julisa when?" Blaine asked, glad Leslie couldn't see the look on his face, though judging by the change in her expression, she probably had a pretty good guess.

"Tomorrow. My first day off in a month, and I'm spending it here. At least the others are old enough to be over this sort of thing. Even with my discount, I don't think I could afford all three of them." Leslie made a face as she fit her costume back together. "The smell on these things..." she muttered. "Think after we've been up and running a while, Gerritsen'll stop cleaning these things with cheap vodka and start doin' them the right way?"

"Who knows?" Blaine laughed while taking off his own mask long enough to shake his head and get a lungful of fresh air. "It's pretty good at getting the stains out, though. You can't even tell where that kid got chocolate ice cream on me the other day."

"Whatever." She swung her arms out a few times, trying to get into character. "Aren't you ready for lunch yet? I never thought a baloney sandwich and a bag of Fritos could look so good."

"It's not that bad," Blaine said, bouncing on his feet. "We get paid to dance and goof around, and I already do that in my room for free. It's fun!"

"About as much as having my hair pulled," Leslie said, and the giant, white bunny mask covering Blaine's head tilted as he eyed her through the mesh mouth. "You know what I meant," she said, turning to the curtain. "Stop looking at me like that. It's bad enough when I can see you, but with that _thing_ on, it's just plain _freaky_." She shuddered, her giant tail flopping behind her. "Masks've always given me the creeps."

"Boy, are you in the wrong line of work," Blaine said, ducking as she swung a fluffy arm his way.

"I have three kids, a mortgage, and a deadbeat ex," she said, her frown obvious even through the squirrel's smile. "In this economy, I'm lucky to _have_ work. I don't work two jobs because I like it, I work them because it keeps the bills paid."

"All the more reason you should try to have fun with it!" Blaine said, clapping his giant, furry hands together as the curtain rose and he broke into an enthusiastic bunny hop. The squirrel and the others-two bears, and a raccoon-all joined in behind him, bobbing and weaving through the artificial trees dotting the stage. Blaine wasn't stupid. He knew most of their coworkers probably shared Leslie'sattitude to some degree or another, he just didn't agree. The Fantastic Forest was, in his opinion, the best place in all of Ohio. The woodland theme extended to every detail of the park's appearance, and though he knew he'd get ribbed if he said it out loud, he always felt like a kid again when he took it all in.

Best of all, Blaine hadn't just gotten selected to play _a_ mascot; he was _the_ mascot. Briarpatch Bunny was everyone's friend and everyone's favorite. His wide, happy smile could be found on half the souvenirs in the many gift shops scattered throughout the grounds, and even on opening day, hundreds of kids could be seen running through the park with a set of floppy white ears (just fifteen ninety-five!) framing their smiling faces. Briarpatch wasn't just a costume for Blaine; he was a gateway into another world, and he had been since Blaine had been a very little boy. A world where everyone was happy and everyone felt welcome, and no one ever, _ever_ felt scared.

Who wouldn't want to live in a world like that?

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(•ㅅ•}

"Hello, Mister Bunny! Are you having a good time?"

Blaine tore his attention from the lanky guy at the Feats of Strength game to find himself facing an older woman with kind eyes and a lined face surrounded by frizzy grey hair. Her flowered dress hung shapeless beneath her thin cardigan, and Blaine found himself wondering if she didn't have a caregiver nearby.

"Mister Bunny?" The woman asked again, taking a bright orange carrot from the canvas bag over her shoulder and pressing it into his hands. "I brought you a present."

Blaine made a show of taking the carrot, holding it between two furry mitts as he clasped it to his chest and pretended to swoon. All around him, children began to point and laugh, encouraging him to ham it up even further. He was just about to mime eating it when a pretty girl with a sour look showed up and put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Come on, Jean. You know we have things to do."

"No, we don't," the woman, Jean, presumably, said, a strange sadness somehow clouding her eyes and giving them new clarity at once.

"What?" The girl frowned, color draining from her cheeks as she noticed the look on Jean's face. "Oh, _god_," she said, voice catching as she looked all around. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Jean said, nodding solemnly as she patted Blaine's arm. "All done."

"_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_." The girl pushed her red fedora back on her head and began to breathe heavily. "Not like this," she said under her breath. "I've seen some pretty fucked up shit doing this, but this is a new low."

Blaine was about to try and ask what was exactly was going on-maybe offer to get security-when another voice broke through.

"Are you the _real_ Briarpatch?" asked a little girl who couldn't have been more than six. Blaine smiled from inside his mask as he turned and dropped to one knee. He opened his arms wide and waved for the little girl to come closer, enveloping her in a hug as her little arms did their best to circle around him. "Sammy says you aren't real," the little girl said, burying her head against his shoulder. "He's wrong, isn't he?" Blaine nodded his head and ruffled her hair, eliciting a yelp of surprise as she jumped away and smoothed it down with a giggle.

Blaine was so taken with the sweetness of the moment, he didn't notice anything else; not the clang of metal on metal, not the sudden shouting, and definitely not the object that flew toward him, until he couldn't help but notice, and everything went black.

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(•ㅅ•}

_Everything feels so light,_ Blaine thought to himself as he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his arms. He gave his head a shake and blinked his eyes as the world around him came into view, then frowned as the chaos sank in. All around him, people were screaming and children were crying, small faces red and streaked with tears as mothers and fathers did their best to scoop them up and carry them away.

Blaine got to his feet and took a dusty breath as he approached what seemed to be the center of the commotion. "You fucking _idiot_!" a now-headless squirrel was screaming, its mask wobbling near her feet as she swung her furry arms at a reedy man. "Did anyone even check that station this morning? How the _fuck_ did this happen? I swear to God-"

"Now, Leslie," Mister Gerritsen, the park manager, was saying, palms up and toward her in a placating fashion. "Why don't you put your head back on, and we'll deal with this calmly? I understand you're upset, but there's no need to cause a scene."

"You think I'm making a _scene_?" Leslie said, the high pitch of hysteria making her sound suddenly younger than her years. "You think _I'm_ the problem, here? Are you fucking _kidding_ me? What do you think is gonna bother people more? Breaking character, or what's lying on the floor right fucking _there_?"

Mister Gerritsen coughed as he pointedly looked away from she she pointed. "We've called the appropriate people," he said stiffly. "The area's being cordoned off and evacuated, and the proper people have been notified. I'm afraid there's little more we can do but wait for them to arrive-no matter how upset we are, or how much yelling we do."

Leslie took in a series of sharp breaths, her jaw firm as she stared at him. "My oldest isn't much younger than him, you know. There's a good kid lying over there, and the way you're acting, it's like you think he's already gone."

"Miss Stewart," Mister Gerritsen said, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do but wait."

Leslie shrugged off his touch and turned to walk away. "Then that's what I'm gonna do, 'cause it's what I'd want someone to do for one of mine."

Blaine backed away as she came nearer, eyes dark and unblinking as she passed him. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better as he saw her shoulders square beneath her suit. He didn't know Leslie that well-he hadn't even known her last name until just now-but something told him she was better left alone, for now.

He gave a start as a hand lowered on his shoulder. "Don't go over there."

Blaine turned to find himself facing the girl he'd seen a few moments earlier. Black hair framed her face beneath the red fedora, and her eyes looked up at him through the mesh opening in Briarpatch's mouth. "Sorry?" He asked, taking off his mask to meet her eye. He knew appearing out of costume in any way was a punishable offense, but given how empty the midway had suddenly become, he thought he could probably risk it.

"She said not to look," a guy with a mohawk said around a mouthful of candy apple. "I'd listen, if I was you.". He jerked his head in Fedora Girl's direction. "You seen Jean?"

She shook her head as she perched on the edge of the wishing well. "Not since it happened. I think she wanted a souvenir, or something."

Mohawk Guy nodded his head and took another bite. "Can't blame her, lotta good stuff here. Have to come back when we get a day off."

"Oh, please," she said, lifting a hand to her face and examining her manicure. "Like that ever happens."

"I figure we're due for some r and r. Even _we_ deserve a break, now and then." The guy tossed the last of the treat into a mushroom-shaped trash can and grinned as he approached one of the games, index fingers pointed triumphantly to the sky. "Dude. Check it out. Betcha I can make that thing go _ka-laaaang_." The last word was still ringing through the air in high falsetto as he swung the hammer at the mat, a heavy _thud_ followed by nothing at all.

Fedora Girl smirked and kicked her legs out as she hopped down. "Very impressive, Hercules. Now, let's find Jean so we can get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps." She turned to Blaine and raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen her, have you? You're kind of the reason she's here, so make things easier on yourself and speak up, okay?"

Blaine tucked his mask under his arm and shook his head. "Who-who's Jean?" A flash of orange flew past, and he felt himself grow cold as he turned and saw it had likely come from the spot where Leslie was currently sitting, shoulders heaving as she stared at something on the ground. "Carrot," Blaine said, half to himself, as he picked it up. "Jean gave me the carrot."

"I told you not to-" Fedora Girl said, an edge in her voice as she ran after Blaine. He felt a cool breeze as she swiped an arm toward him and missed, not bothering to register how odd it was that he felt the chill through the thick material of his suit.

"Dude, what a rip," Mohawk Guy said, tossing the sledge hammer aside behind them. "Thing doesn't even have a weight on it. What kind of scam is that?"

Blaine felt the world slide out from under him as he reached Leslie's shoulder and found himself unable to stop moving. He braced himself for her ire at their unavoidable collision, then felt the wind knocked out of him as he fell forward and-there wasn't any other way to put it-_through_ her.

"Dumb fucking kid," she muttered as Blaine stumbled to find his footing. "Too busy makin' everyone else happy to pay attention. Fucking kid..." She took a long, deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth as she looked to the sky. "You know I love you, Lord, but you have got to stop testing me like this" She shook her head again and wiped at her nose with a furry paw. "Always testing me."

"Oh, shit," Mohawk Guy said, skidding to a stop behind her. "Guess that's why the Feats Of Strength game didn't work."

"What?" Blaine turned and instantly fell to the ground as he spotted what Leslie was guarding. In front of her lay a large pile of white fur, a sticky looking pool of reddish-black dripping from a mesh mouth and a large, gleaming silver weight stuck directly between two floppy ears.

Fedora Girl sighed. "I told you not to look."

Blaine swallowed and dropped to Leslie's side. "Is that-"

Mohawk Guy nodded. "Yep. Hate to break it to you, man, but this is it. So don't bother talking to your friend, there. She can't see you." He looked around. "She can't see or hear any of us, right now."

A lump formed in Blaine's throat as he jumped up to stared at him. "I just turned eighteen," he said. "I haven't even graduated high school. I can't-"

Mohawk Guy put a hand on Blaine's furry chest and looked at him with so much pity, Blaine had to look away. "Look, man, I feel you. I wasn't much older than you when it happened to me. Sucks, but it's just the way it is."

"But it isn't _fair_," Blaine said, hands balling into fists.

"Dude," Mohawk guy said, leaning in until he was inches from Blaine's face. "Who ever said life was _fair_?"

Blaine swallowed. "But my parents...my friends..."

"Will go on without you," Mohawk Guy said. "Same's ours did."

A shadow fell over Blaine as he looked up. "We can go now," Jean said, clutching a stuffed Briarpatch Bunny doll to her chest. "I wanted to take a bunny with me."

Fedora Girl opened her mouth, but a sudden flash of light kept her from speaking. Blaine's eyes widened as a shimmering rectangle of blue light appeared, growing until it was the size of the park's front gates. "Do you want to play with us, Jeanie?" A childish voice called from just beyond the point where Blaine could see. "Yeah!" another voice joined in. "Play with us, Jeanie! We've been waiting a long time."

"Jean?" Fedora Girl froze as she stared at the portal. "It's here for _Jean_?"

"They're waiting for me!" Jean said, all smiles and shining eyes as she looked at Fedora Girl. "I get to go to the party!"

Mohawk Guy came up behind her and slung an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, they are," he said, lowering his face to kiss her cheek. "You go on, Jeanie. Don't keep your new friends waiting, 'kay?"

Jean turned and threw her arms around him. "I'll miss you, Puck." She waved a finger at Fedora Girl and grinned. "You be nice, Santana."

Santana smiled even as her eyes grew damp. "You know I never am."

"I know, I know," Jean said, waving the bunny in the air as she broke away from Puck. "Tell the others goodbye for me!"

"Will do," Santana said, wiping at a tear with her thumb. "You have fun, Jeanie."

Jean shuffled toward the portal, now resembling something out of Wonka's factory, and turned just before she reached it. "You keep the bunny," she said, holding the doll toward Blaine. "He needs someone to love him."

Blaine stumbled forward, doing his best not to look down. "Thank you," he said, taking the toy from her. "It's um, a really nice doll."

Jean's eyes twinkled as they locked on his. "It's the best doll." She took a step back, and everything was bathed in light as the portal blinked out of existence, the laughter of countless children fading out along with it.

Santana came up behind him and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "So, bunny boy; looks like you're one of us, now."

"One of-what?" Blaine asked, looking up from the plush toy in his hands. "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on here!?" Blaine threw the bunny to the side and jerked when he saw Leslie's head snap in the direction of the trash can as it hit.

"Dude, calm down," Puck said. "Freakin' out's not gonna do you any good, and it might freak out your friend over there, if you make something like that happen again."

Santana threw her hands up to placate him. "Listen, short stack, I promise you'll get the rundown on everything, but not until we get you out of here. I don't know how much time we have left, but it's probably not a lot. Just come with us, and we'll take you to someone who's a lot better at this stuff than we are. Deal?"

Blaine took a breath and held it for a minute before nodding. "Doesn't seem like I have much choice."

"That's the spirit." She eyed Blaine's costume and lifted an eyebrow. "You wearing anything underneath that?"

Blaine felt himself squirm. "Do boxers and an undershirt count?"

She slapped her hands against her hips and turned to walk away. "Great. Can't wait to hear what the boss-guy has to say about this."

Puck retrieved the doll and handed it to Blaine. "Don't forget this,"

Blaine took it and turned it over in his hands. "Thanks," he said quietly. "So, this boss guy you mentioned. Is he...nice?"

Santana and Puck exchanged a look. "Why don't we let you decide for yourself?" Santana offered.

"Boss-guy's not so bad," Puck rushed to add, prodding Blaine to follow Santana as she headed for the exit. "He just takes some getting used to."

"I don't know," Santana called over her shoulder. "Maybe if we make this guy show up in his boxers, it'll earn him some bonus points."

"Dude!" Puck cried out.

Santana rolled her eyes as she reached the gate and swept right through it as if it wasn't even there. "Oh, come on," she said. "He's _dead_, not blind."

(\_/)

(•ㅅ•}

Blaine looked up and knit his brows together. "Breadstix?"

Santana pulled the keys from the convertible's ignition. "What? Don't tell me you're not doing carbs, because that kind of thing _so_ doesn't matter, anymore. Trust me, it's the best perk we get." She paused. "Enjoy it; there aren't a lot."

"No, no," Blaine said, ducking as Puck vaulted out of the back without bothering to use a door. "It's just..._Breadstix_?"

Santana cast a withering glance at him. "Lesson one, Bunny Boy; Death is nowhere near as glamorous as those tragic weirdos with too much eyeliner make it out to be."

"Who cares if it's glamorous? Long as boss-guy's paying, we could be at that place the health department shut down last year, for all I care." Puck turned and waved for Blaine to follow. "Come on. I wanna see if my favorite waitress is working tonight. This place might be known for their sticks, but she's known for her-"

"Oh my god, you're such a pig," Santana said, pushing the door open as Blaine caught up.

Puck grinned. "Oink oink, baby."

"Here! Over here!" A perky brunette was bouncing from a corner booth as she waved them down. "I was the first one here so I got us a table and-" her face went slack as she caught sight of Blaine. "Who's this?" She swung her attention to each of them in turn, ending on Santana. "Where's Jean? What's going on? This doesn't make sense; I want some answers, I-" she stopped and looked back to Blaine. "What are you _wearing_?"

Santana motioned for Miss Perky to slide over. "Shove him in the middle. If we flank him on either side, maybe no one will notice that he's dressed like Bugs Bunny."

"_Briarpatch_ Bunny," Blaine said, scowling as he got into the booth and picked up a glass of water. "At least get the name right."

Santana waved dismissively and slid in beside him. "Fine, whatever. Just be glad you left the head in the trunk. That would have been harder to hide."

Miss Perky blanched. "There's a head?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "No, shit there's a head. You think he's wearing that thing for the fun of it? He was working at that new amusement park when..." She made a vague motion toward her head. "_You know_."

Miss Perky nodded and took a sip from the glass in front of her. "When he died?"

Blaine sputtered as a sip of water got stuck in his throat.

Puck reached for a napkin and handed it to Blaine so he could mop himself up. "Jesus, Rachel. You can't just bust out with stuff like that. Guy hasn't even been like this an hour. Give him some time to get used to it."

"Tell me I'm having a nightmare." Blaine looked up and felt his throat go dry at the sight of the young man standing before him. Tall and lean, all long legs and pale, pale skin beneath a crest of nut-brown hair, two eyes the color of Jean's portal focused right upon Blaine as his hands rested atop a gleaming black and silver walking stick. "Rachel, what did I tell you about bringing guests?"

"He's not my guest," Rachel said, her cheeks turning faintly pink as she stole a glance from the corner of her eye. "Yes, our new companion is very handsome, but I've only just met him, and _I'm_ not the one who brought him and-"

Portal Eyes placed a leather-clad fingertip to her lips to shut her up. "Where's Jean?"

Santana picked up a breadstick from the basket on the table. "That's what we need to talk to you about."

Portal Eyes pulled off a pair of soft, leather driving gloves and slipped them into his satchel as he took a seat beside Rachel. "I didn't know which one of you would be leaving, but I knew something like this would be happening sooner or later. I'd hoped it would wait until after Easter, but if it's time it's time." He threw a hand into the air and snapped his fingers, eyes unblinking even as the waitress appeared. "Cheesecake."

The waitress nodded and wrote on her pad. "Slice of cheesecake, coming right up."

"No, no," Portal Eyes said, shaking his head and clasping his hands together. "I meant a _whole_ cheesecake. With strawberries." He paused. "Please"

Their waitress barely hesitated before scratching out the previous order and writing in the new one. "If you say so. Anyone else ready to order?"

Rachel handed over her menu with a smile. "Primavera Pomodoro, please. Do you have the Parmesan substitute?" The waitress nodded and Rachel gave a little bounce in her seat. "Can I get a lot of that sprinkled on top, please? Thank you."

Santana snapped her menu shut and slid it across the table. "Tuscan Trio, extra basil, extra olives."

"What about you?" the waitress asked, one hip rolling forward as she turned to Puck. "You want your usual meatball sub?"

Puck leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the booth. "You know it."

She winked. "Sounds good. Now," she said, poking her pen in Rachel's direction. "That one's got her iced tea; what about the rest of you?"

Portal Eyes spoke before anyone else could. "Red wine, all around. Even her."

Rachel tapped on her glass. "But I already have something to drink,"

He nodded his ambivalence. "That's nice. Now you'll have two things to drink."

"But I'm avoiding alcohol until my audition, and-"

"Rachel." Portal Eyes pressed his thumbs together above his joined hands, knuckles turning white. "One of us has moved on to a better place, and we are having a toast in her honor. Drink all the tea you want, but you _will_ raise a glass of questionable vintage with the rest of us, even if you only have one sip. Do you understand?"

Rachel pursed her lips and flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder, barely missing Blaine's cheek. "Fine," she muttered under her breath. "But only because it's for Jean."

Blaine's eyes widened as their waitress walked away. "Um, excuse me?" he asked, leaning across Rachel. "I know I'm kind of a guest here, but don't I get to eat anything?"

Portal Eyes was nonplussed as he took a sip of water. "No."

"But-" Blaine's words were cut off as Portal Eyes took the basket of breadsticks from the center of the table and placed it in front of him. He nodded toward the basket and waved a hand as if inviting Blaine to take one. _Better than nothing_, Blaine thought, reaching for one and blinking as his fingers passed through with a cool rush. "What the-"

"As the late Cab Calloway might have sung," Portal Eyes said, his tone as smooth and cool as the cheesecake that would soon be sitting before him. "You ain't got no body." He waved a hand. "It'll take some getting used to, but it won't be for long. Until you regain a corporeal form, try and enjoy things like not having to shave or floss."

Blaine poked at the table and felt a chill as his finger went right through. "I'm really-"

"As the proverbial doornail," Portal Eyes said simply, but not unkindly as their waitress brought their wine. "It's the primary job requirement."

Blaine watched as the others picked up their glasses. "Job?"

"The job to end all jobs," Portal Eyes said as their waitress swept herself away. "You, my furry friend, are the newest practitioner of what is _truly_ the world's oldest profession." His eyes gleamed as Blaine felt icy shivers crawl down his neck. "No," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Not _that_. People always say the only two things you can't avoid are death and taxes, but find a good accountant, get creative enough, taxes aren't a problem." He lifted his glass of wine and swirled it a little, watching as the liquid sloshed inside. "Death, on the other hand, is where we come in. Are you okay?"

Blaine shifted in his seat and tried not to wince. "Sorry," he said. "This isn't really designed for sitting. The tail-" he felt his cheeks flush. "It's not the most comfortable thing I've ever worn."

Portal Eyes looked on with amusement. "Some outfits are worth a bit of pain, but I don't think that's one of them. What is it? Polar bear?"

Blaine hesitated. "Bunny."

"Hrm," Portal Eyes said thoughtfully. "Too bad it isn't black. Very _'Watership Down.'_"

Blaine stiffened. "Inlé," he said quietly, his voice sounding distant and hollow to his own ears.

"Now he gets it," Portal Eyes said with a grin as he lifted his glass.

Blaine felt a chill run through his body as their eyes locked. "You're not just dead, you're Death, like capital-D _Death_."

Portal Eyes gave a tilting bow of his head. "Technically, we-and this includes you, now that you're one of us-have no hand in life or death. People die when they're supposed to, whether we make our appointment or not. What we do is facilitate the transition from one to the other."

Blaine swallowed, wishing more than anything he could have some of the wine they were more or less enjoying. "How do you do that?"

Portal Eyes looked past Rachel to focus on blaine. "Before you...experienced whatever it was you experienced, do you remember Jean making a point of touching you?"

"She gave me a carrot," Blaine said, looking back up at him. "Right before it happened; she put it right into my hands."

Portal Eyes nodded. "When Jean touched you, she removed your soul from your body. If you hadn't been chosen as one of us, the gateway that opened when you passed would have been for you, and she'd be here with us now."

Blaine thought back to some of the mythology he'd read in school. "So you're psychopomps?"

Puck snorted. "Big words from the little guy."

Portal Eyes held out his glass. "Big and accurate. So let us toast, to Jean, who has gone to a place we can still only dream, and to Blaine, the newest member of our _Owsla_."

"Our what?" Santana asked.

Portal Eyes grinned. "Never mind. As long as Blaine understands, that's all that matters."

"Wait," Blaine said, once all glasses had been clinked and first sips drunk. "How did you know my name? No one's told me yours."

"Kurt," Portal Eyes said, taking another sip of wine and sinking back into the booth with a look of satisfaction. "And to answer your question, I know _everything_."

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(•ㅅ•}


	2. Chapter 2

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(•ㅅ•}

Blaine sank into the couch and tried his best to keep still. He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, hoping that the posture would help steady him.

"Brewski?"

Blaine looked up and shook his head at the bottle of Corona Puck was offering him. "Thanks, but being..." He pressed his hands into the couch cushions and marveled as they sank right through the material and into the foam filling. "Whatever I am, I don't think that's possible."

Puck nodded and flopped into an armchair, both bottles still in hand. "Good point. 'Sokay. I'll drink enough for both of us. You do what you gotta-dying kinda takes a lot out of a guy."

Blaine was silent as he watched Puck drink. He took a slug from one bottle, then the next, alternating in an almost perfect and predictable rhythm without a word. "Are you sure about all of this?" Blaine finally asked. "There has to be some mistake. I'm _eighteen_. I'm just a kid! I haven't done anything yet, and I-"

Puck looked at him for a moment, amusement filling his eyes. "Dude, first thing you gotta get through those three coats of shellac you got on your head? Death doesn't make mistakes. It doesn't care how old you were, or how many people loved you-or how many people didn't, or what you thought you had ahead of you. It takes you when it wants you, and that's it." He kicked his feet onto the table and crossed his legs at the ankles, his heavy, leather boots leaving a scuff on the worn, wooden surface. "End of story."

Blaine pulled his feet up onto the couch and curled into the corner. "Do you think my parents are worried about me?"

The look on Puck's face was almost pitying when he spoke. "They're probably a lotta things right now, but I don't think worried is one of 'em." He paused for a second and looked away as he continued. "Find a way to get through tonight, and tomorrow'll be easier. Day after a little more, until you finally get up one day and you don't even think about it anymore."

Blaine rubbed his arms up and down his furry sleeves, grateful for _something_ he could touch. "How-how long did it take you?"

Puck grinned as he finished off the last of his beer and got up from his chair, returning moments later with two new ones, his double-fisted drinking continuing as he laughed and turned his attention back to Blaine. "Pretty quick. Way I went, pretty hard not to."

"How did-"

Puck held out one of his bottles and shook his head. "Story for another night, bro. Don't think you could handle it yet."

"That bad?"

"Let's just say it wasn't how I wanted to be remembered, okay?" Puck took another drink and forced a wry grin. "I can't even blame it on a graveling, the way you probably can."

Blaine tilted his head as Puck took another sip. "Graveling?"

Puck screwed up his mouth as he considered how to answer. "You never see them, but it's pretty easy to tell when they've been around. The weirder someone goes out, the more you can bet one of 'em's behind it." He gestured toward Blaine with the bottle in his right hand. "Takin' it in the skull by a carnival game dressed like a giant bunny? That's got graveling written all over it."

Blaine shrugged and watched as the oversized feet of his costume flopped at the ends of his legs. "I wish I could take this off."

"Nothing's stopping you," Puck said with a dark laugh. "Even in whatever you've got under there, you'd still be better off than I was, at your state."

Blaine pursed his lips and forced himself not to press further. Puck had already made it clear he wasn't going to tell Blaine his story; asking again would only be rude. "I wish I could take one of those from you."

Puck stared at the bottle in his left hand and nodded slowly. "Wish I could give you one."

Blaine curled back into himself. "This is all going to get easier."

Puck leaned forward and grabbed a remote control, filling the room with the sounds of monster trucks. "Yeah," he snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}

Blaine tossed and turned all night, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes tight until he heard Puck's voice coming from the hall. "Rise and shine, Bunny Boy. Boss-guy hates it when we're late."

"Boss-guy?" Blaine sat up and watched as Puck hung in the doorway.

"Yeah. About this tall, needs a tan, dresses _way _too fancy to spend his day dealing with future stiffs?" He flopped back into the recliner and kicked the corner of the sofa bed, causing Blaine to scramble as it flew up and through his foot "Pull yourself together. We've got half an hour 'til Der Wafflehaus."

Blaine rubbed at his face. "Der Wafflehaus?"

Puck nodded. "Boss guy gives us our assignments at breakfast, then we meet up and debrief over dinner at the 'stix."

Blaine padded behind as Puck took his keys from a peg on the wall. "What about lunch?"

Puck made a face. "What do you think this is? Summer camp? Lunch isn't part of the deal. Get that on your own. Or-" his face softened into a conspiratorial grin. "Just get something really big for breakfast, and take half of it with you."

"That's brilliant," deadpanned Blaine.

"I know, right?" Puck threw open the door and took a deep breath, arms flung out to the sides. "Stick with me, kid. I've got this stuff down cold."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}

"Congratulations," Kurt said as Blaine slid into the booth beside Puck. "You've just beaten Rachel's unicorn sweater for the most ridiculous thing anyone's worn to our morning meeting."

Blaine's cheeks colored as he slumped forward. "It's not like I had a choice."

Kurt looked him over twice before he gave a grudging nod of his head. "You're right. I was out of line, and I apologize for that."

"Speaking of sorry," Santana said, pulling a face as she dropped beside Puck. "Remind me never to carpool with Rachel again."

"It's better for the planet." Rachel sat primly beside Kurt and flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. "We only live three blocks apart. It's ridiculous that we take two cars here."

Santana dropped her menu and lifted her hands to rub her temples. "Not when one car means I have to listen to you singing the entire libretto from _'Funny Girl,'_ it isn't. I swear, if you weren't already dead, I think I could get away with justifiable homicide if you make me put up with that again."

Kurt shook his head. "Rachel, it's great that you're so passionate about the environment, but it really doesn't make sense to give her a ride when you don't know where you'll be going that day. For all you know, you could be sent to different sides of town."

"See?" Santana picked her menu back up and smiled to herself as her eyes ran over the menu. "Now let's get Mama some pancakes and hopefully an early reap so I can get back to work. I've got a hot date tonight, and there is a _fantastic_ pair of black studded pumps I have my eye on at Betsey Johnson that could mean the difference between a goodnight kiss and a goodnight-"

"Wow, that jelly donut sandwich looks good," Blaine said, wishing he could disappear under the table. "Have any of you tried that? I've never been here before and I can't eat anything anyway, but boy, everything looks good and I-"

"I'm gonna' guess the princess is having her usual fruit plate and hash browns, but what about the rest of you?"

Blaine looked up and felt a chill as he stared at the waitress taking their order. "Leslie," he said quietly. "Hi."

"Hey," Leslie said, oblivious to Blaine's words. "What happened to Jean? I _liked_ Jean."

"I'm afraid Jean got too big for our little group," Kurt said, stirring more creamer into his coffee. "You'll see her replacement soon enough."

"Shame," Leslie said, turning back to Kurt. "If you hear from her, tell I said God bless, okay? Now what about you? You having your usual, too?"

Kurt's shook his head and smiled. "You know, I think I'm going to try that Banana Bonanza you're always talking about."

Blaine stared, open-mouthed, as Leslie continued taking their orders. "So what does she think we do?" Blaine asked once Leslie was out of earshot.

Kurt smirked. "She thinks we're door to door evangelists. It makes all the talk about souls easier to explain. I know it must seem like a lot of information, but I'm sure it won't take long for you to catch up."

Blaine swallowed. "Until I catch up to what?"

Kurt picked up the three envelopes in front of him and handed them out. "Everything. Starting today. Rachel?" He said, turning to face her. "I thought it might be a good idea for Blaine to join you today. Walk him through the process and answer any questions he has. Does that work for you?"

Rachel opened her envelope with a frown. "I'm going to be cutting it awfully close today, but I suppose he needs to learn about balancing things, too. At least, he does if he isn't going to end up like these two."

"Hey," Santana said, jerking a finger in Puck's direction. "Don't lump me in with this one. At least _I_ make an honest living."

"Yes, Santana, I'm sure all of the lonely men you talk to on the phone get the complete truth from you."

Puck glared at both of them. "Nothing wrong with what I do. Not like you guys are innocent."

Blaine cowered in his corner of the booth and laced his fingers over his face. He caught sight of Kurt smirking toward him and managed to find his words. "Are they _always_ like this?"

"Usually," Kurt answered. "You'll get used to it."

Blaine sighed. "I don't know if I want to."

All warmth drained from Kurt's face. "We'll that's too bad," he said. "Because you don't really have a choice."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}

"So..." Blaine said, climbing into a pale green Leaf and pausing as he realized how futile fastening his seat belt would be, if it were even possible. "What exactly are we supposed to do now?"

"We do our job. Every morning, Kurt gives us our assignments. We usually only have one per day, but sometimes we'll have more. Technically, our division specializes in all external influence-accidents, suicides, murders-but we seem to get a really high number of head injuries." She gave a little bounce as she maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and into traffic. "You and I have that in common. That, and we both died in tragic accidents while in character."

Blaine blinked. After Puck's refusal to tell his story, Blaine hadn't figured on anyone else sharing theirs anytime soon. "Really? What happened to you?"

Rachel gave an exaggerated sigh, and Blaine began to suspect she might be enjoying the turn in conversation a little bit too much. "It was the night of my broadway debut. I was eighteen years old, and I was costarring with Betty Buckley-_the_ Betty Buckley, Grizabella, herself! But I was the star, and standing in the most beautiful pale pink dress with every eye in the audience watching me as I waved. I knew the tiara and flowers were just props, but I _really_ felt like a princess at that moment." Rachel lifted a hand from the steering wheel and gave a practiced wave. "And then the rigging broke, and the bucket that was supposed to stay suspended above me came loose, crushing my skull in an instant."

"Oh, my _god_!" Blaine cried out, mouth falling open in shock. "What show was this?"

Rachel sighed. "A musical adaptation of Stephen King's classic novel of adolescent torment."

"Wait," Blaine said, not sure whether or not to believe her. "You died playing _Carrie_?"

Rachel nodded. "The pail fell almost straight down, so nothing really spilled until it hit me. That's why it was so bad, you know. The liquid was very heavy. It took two men to make sure it fit into place." She gave a toss of her head. "Maybe one of them wasn't paying attention that night. No one even realized I was dead until I missed the song cue twice."

"That's terrible!"

"I know! I _never_ missed a cue! Not once, never mind _twice_. All the stage blood kind of..." She waved a hand absentmindedly. "...obscured things, I guess."

Blaine stared at her. "I can't believe I never heard about this. I didn't even know they made a musical of that."

Rachel flipped another bit of her hair and shrugged. "The show didn't last long, after that. My understudy was too afraid to go on, and even when they managed to talk one of the chorus girls to take the part, it was only after they changed things so Chris and Billy ran past and dumped it over her head. Where's the drama in _that_? The backers must have agreed with me because they pulled their funding before the week was through. It's been twenty-five years, and no one's been successful with it since.I don't want to sound too self important, but I think it's cursed. I was _born_ to play that part, and once I was gone, no one else would do."

"I guess not," Blaine said, looking out the window as Rachel pulled into a parking lot.

"Of course not." Rachel shut off the car and watched as Blaine fumbled his way out of the car."Now come on; I have an audition across town in less than an hour."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}

Blaine leaned against the elevator wall and looked up to the trap in the ceiling as it began to climb upward. "So how does this work?"

Rachel checked her lipgloss in a compact and frowned. "It's been almost fifteen years, and I still don't think I'll ever get used to this face." She snapped it shut and put it back into her purse, the envelope Kurt had given her in her hand when she pulled it out. "It's really quite straightforward," she said, reading the card over once more. "We're told where to go, the projected time of death, and the initial and last name of the person we need to meet. We find them before the time given, take their soul, and leave once they've moved on. Most reapings can be done in under ten minutes, but sometimes things get complicated."

The elevator dinged and Blaine rushed to keep up as the doors slid open and Rachel began gliding down the hall. "Complicated? What do you mean, complicated? And reaping? Taking souls? You know how creepy this all sounds, don't you?"

"You only think that because you haven't accepted it yet." Rachel looked at her wrist and frowned as she checked her watch. "Kurt really should have been the one to take you out for your first time. He's much better at explaining it than I am. His schedule is more flexible, too."

"Sorry?" Blaine's shoulders shrugged as Rachel held a finger to her lips and knocked on a door halfway down. He watched as she took a breath and clasped her hands behind her back, smiling brightly when the door opened.

"Can I help you?" asked a man Blaine would have guessed to be in his mid sixties. "This had better be important. "Little House on the Prairie" is on, and it's the episode where Mary goes blind."

"Hello," Rachel said, reaching out to shake his hand. "I'm looking for Mister Ryerson. Is that you?"

The man frowned, his hand limp as it took Rachel's and gave it an almost imperceptible shake. "Sandy Ryerson, yes. Are you going to tell me what this is about, or are we going to stand out here all day?"

Rachel pulled a plain white envelope from her purse and handed it over. "It's your lucky day, Mister Ryerson. You've won two tickets to Big Top Theater's production of _'Annie Get Your Gun.'_ Alison Arngrim is starring in the lead; it should be an amazing show."

"Well shuck my corn and call me breaded." Sandy's eyes lit up as he opened the envelope and took out the tickets. "This is about the best thing that's happened to me since I don't know when." He clasped the tickets to his chest and smiled warmly. "Thank you. You've just about made my year."

"Happy to hear it," Rachel said, placing her hand on Sandy's upper arm and giving it a friendly pat before sweeping it away. "We'll see you there."

Sandy shut the door and Blaine turned to Rachel with brows knit together over his eyes. "What was that all about?"

Rachel stared at her watch and held up a finger. "Wait for it." She nodded as the seconds ticked off, pointing to the door at the exact second a crash could be heard inside the apartment. "That's our cue," she said, opening the door and waving Blaine inside. "We cut this one a little close, but at least we made it in time."

Blaine looked around and froze when he spotted a pair of khaki-covered legs sticking out of a doorway at odd angles. "What happened?"

Rachel headed for the body and poked her head inside the room. "I'm not sure, but I think he hit his head on the bathtub."

"You're damn right, I did." Blaine jumped as another Sandy appeared, arms crossed and frowning. "I can't tell you how many times I've complained to the landlady about that bump in the carpet. Tripped almost every time I left the bathroom, but _she_ didn't think it was a problem. Can't wait to see who she gets to take over this place now. I tell you, I feel sorry for the poor sap. Sixteen years, I lived here, and I probably spent fifteen and a half wishing I didn't."

Blaine spoke without thinking. "Why didn't you just move?"

Sandy turned to him, aghast. "Have you not noticed the many units of custom shelving? I spent a _fortune_ having them installed. You don't just leave an investment like that unless you have to."

Rachel stepped back into the living room and ran her eyes over the sea of dolls covering the walls. "You have a mint in box Barbra Streisand _'Hello, Dolly!'_ doll with bonus parasol?"

"Mm," Sandy hummed in agreement as he joined her. "Autographed, too. See? Right there." He moved to tap against the box's corner, blanching when his finger passed right through. "Well doesn't that beat all?"

Rachel gave a whimper as she put her hand on his once more. "I'm sorry," she said, eyes still fixed on the doll. "But you know what they say. _Can't take it with you.'_"

Sandy's mouth formed a hard line. "Yes, well, I suppose you're right." He took a breath and looked around. "So what now? Choirs of angels? Swarms of heavenly virgins? Do I _go into the light,_ Carol Anne?"

As if on cue, a crack of light came from the TV, growing until another portal appeared. Shimmering curtains flapped on either side, cheers and applause ringing out from an unseen audience. "My name isn't Carol Anne," Rachel said, tearing her attention from the doll and moving her hand to his arm. "But I think that answers your question."

Sandy stared breathlessly through the portal. "It's beautiful," he whispered before turning back to Rachel. "I guess this means I don't get to see Nellie Oleson shoot a gun on stage, do I?"

Rachel shook her head. "Where you're going, you'll see things that are even better."

"Dare to dream." Sandy straightened his collar and tucked his polo back into his khakis. He took one arm of the sweater he had around his neck and tossed it behind his shoulder like a feather boa. "My audience awaits. Time to make my entrance."

Blaine watched as Sandy walked through the blue haze and took a deep bow to the swell of applause. "Jean's wasn't like that. Is everyone's different?"

Rachel nodded as she reached up and took the Barbra Streisand doll down from the shelf. "Most of the time. Sometimes, couples or families will get one to share, but that doesn't happen often."

Blaine watched the TV as the portal vanished, a frantic girl crying on the screen as she stared out with unfocused eyes. "What do you think yours would be like?"

Rachel shot him a dirty look. "I know you're new at this, but that's not the kind of thing you just ask someone you don't know." She looked down and ran her fingers lovingly over twin curves in the _B_ that began the box's signature. "Now come on. I have half an hour to make it to my audition, and I don't want to be late."

Blaine pointed to the box in her hands. "But what about the doll?"

"What about it?" Rachel asked, holding it gently by the sides.

"What about it?" Blaine repeated. "It doesn't belong to you, that's what. You can't just take it. It's _stealing_, and stealing from a dead guy seems really kind of low."

Rachel rolled her eyes and dropped the doll into a shopping bag that hung from a nearby closet door. "It's not like he's going to miss it. We all do this, and at least I only take the occasional item to add to one of my collections. Barbra has been my idol ever since my parents let me stay up late to watch her sing _'Evergreen'_ on the Academy Awards." She paused, a contemplative laugh coming and going in an instant. "It was nineteen seventy-seven, and I'd just turned seven years old. I have my doubts about numerology as a whole, but something about all those sevens..." She shook the thought out of her head and continued. "If I don't take it, it'll end up in some junk shop where no one will appreciate it the way _I_ will. If Puck were here, he'd have the whole place cleared out before noon."

Blaine frowned as he followed her to the elevator. Puck had seemed like a nice enough guy. He couldn't imagine him as a thief. "Is he a kleptomaniac, or something?"

"No." Rachel punched the call button and tapped her foot until the doors opened. "He sells it all on eBay."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}

Blaine spent most of the car ride gazing out the window as Rachel talked, mostly about herself. He tried to keep up for a while, but it didn't take long to realize that Rachel wasn't interested so much in conversation as she was in having a captive audience. He finally perked up when they reached a familiar brick building. "I know this place," he said. "I used to do community theater here."

Rachel looked intrigued. "Really? I wonder if we ever worked together." She looked at him and tilted her head. "No, I'd remember you, if we had."

"And I'd remember you," Blaine said before Rachel shook her head.

As Rachel leaned in and flipped open the passenger side visor mirror, a stranger appeared in front of him. The girl in the mirror had mousey brown hair and wide, green eyes over a mouth that looked a little too full for the tiny nose above it. "We see each other the way we really were. Everyone else sees something different."

"But why?" Blaine asked, looking at her with confusion. "That doesn't make any sense."

Rachel rested her head on his shoulder and laughed. "We're _dead_. How much sense do you think it would make if people could recognize their dear, departed loved ones walking down the street?"

Blaine squirmed and tried to put some distance between them. She really was too close for comfort. "Aren't you going to be late?"

Rachel practically launched herself away from him and at the car door. "Yes! I need to get going, I-" she broke off and looked around, eyes finally settling on the library across the street. "There," she said, pointing to it. "Find a way to entertain yourself-_no_ scaring the patrons-and I'll meet you when I'm done."

Blaine looked at the library and hesitated for a moment. "How long do you think you'll be in there?"

Rachel sighed. "I don't know. It's an open call and there's a new director. I could be here all afternoon."

Blaine nodded slowly and got out of the car, passing through the door without asking her to open it. An idea was forming, and he said a silent thanks for his unexpected luck. "I might take a walk," he told her. "If that's okay, I mean. I could use a little exercise to clear my head."

Rachel shut the car door and looked at the doors behind her. "As long as we aren't late for dinner, everything is fine. I have to go; I'll see you later!" She turned and ran for the doors, purse hanging from her arm and a leather portfolio held to chest.

Blaine lurked beside the caruntil he was sure she was inside, then got out and looked down the bus stop was right where he remembered it, and he managed to reach it just in time for the number thirty-three to show up. He hopped on behind a pair of lovestruck preteens and sank into the nearest seat, relief filling him at the first familiar thing he'd experienced since this whole nightmare had started.

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}

Blaine got off the bus and stretched his arms over his head as he looked around. He waved when he saw Mrs. Jacobi puttering around in her garden, feeling foolish as he realized she wouldn't nod back.

His stomach twisted as he reached the familiar brick house with its white shutters and masses of oleander growing against the fences. The lack of cars wasn't surprising, but the stillness that seemed to hang over it was. Even when no one else was home, Blaine had felt a kind of buzzing in the house. A vibrancy that brought everything to life and made it feel warm even in the middle of winter.

Blaine tried not to connect its absence to the events of the day before. Tried not to think about what it could mean, or what he was doing, or, really, anything at all.

He jogged up the driveway and around to the back door, swallowing as first his hand, and then the rest of him, passed completely through it. He stood in the kitchen for a moment, taking in the spotless counters and sink that looked identical to when he'd left the previous morning, with the addition of a few dirty coffee cups and nothing else. Without looking, he had a hunch the trashcan didn't look much different, either. It was almost as if the house was frozen in place, neither here nor there and not much different from how he felt, himself.

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he gave a start when he saw straight through to the tree outside his bedroom window. He'd shut the door to his room when he'd left the day before, and his parents had always been good about respecting his privacy. The rolling ball of sick and discomfort within him grew as he made his way up and saw the closet doors spread wide.

_'Don't think why. Don't think why...'_ he repeated to himself as he looked inside and noted the absence of his Dalton uniform. A few other items-all favorites-were bunched together in the middle, and he had to focus on repeating his new mantra as he reached for them and came up with only cool air between his fingers.

"_Fuck_," he cried out, suddenly more distressed by the lack of a heart pounding in his chest as he fell to the floor and tried to cry. It wasn't as if he hadn't been aware of everything going on, but something about being _here_, in the place he only knew as his and finding himself unable to connect to any of it, felt final in a way the rest hadn't.

Blaine screamed as loud as he could manage, eyes going wide as he threw himself at his bed and felt one of the pillows slide off the side, knocking over his alarm clock and sending it to the floor. He tried to pick it up and cursed as his fingers once again slipped through it, head jerking as he heard a sound from outside.

Before he could do anything else, he ran from the room and back through the same door he'd used to enter, trying his best not to watch as he saw his mom pulling into the driveway, his own car following with a tearstained Trent behind the wheel.

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•}


	3. Chapter 3

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Blaine stared at Puck and tried to decipher the tight-lipped grin upon his face. "Are you going to tell me why you're so dressed up?"

Puck flipped the end of his tie and looked away as he pulled into the parking lot. "What? I'm not allowed to class it up a little? I clean up damn good, when I feel like it."

"You look great," Blaine said, taking in Puck's grey slacks and black shirt. "It's just...it's not what I've come to expect from you, that's all."

Puck pulled into a spot and gave Blaine a look as he yanked up the parking brake. "Dude, you've known me for less than a week. You haven't had time to expect anything.

Blaine ran a hand over his hair as he nodded. "I guess you're right. It's just that you're usually so casual."

"Yeah, well," Puck said, getting out of the truck and slamming the door with a heavy _thunk_. "It's kind of an important day."

"It is?" Blaine asked, feeling stupid as Puck strode into Der Wafflehaus. "Important how?"

Kurt looked up as they slid into the booth he already occupied with Rachel and Santana. "I'm surprised you don't already know."

"Why would I-" Blaine began, cutting himself off when he noticed how similarly all four of them were dressed. "Oh," he said, suddenly deflated. "Is that what day it is?"

Kurt nodded solemnly, a smile tight upon his lips. "You could call it a rite of passage."

Blaine fell back against the booth, face falling as Puck handed him a menu. "Do I have to?"

Santana checked her makeup in a hand mirror and peered at him from around the edge. "Afraid so, bunny boy." She snapped the mirror shut and slipped it into her cleavage. "We all had to do it, and now it's time for you. If you're smart, you'll sneak out early like I did." She rolled her eyes. "I couldn't take any more fake-ass bitches pretending we'd been BFFs when they all knew Sharice ducked that basket toss on purpose. Dumbass actually thought I was after that idiot boyfriend of hers. Please, even if I _liked_ dick, that gorilla would have been last on my list." She crossed her arms against herself and dug back into the seat. "My abuela wouldn't even let my girlfriend give my eulogy. The only person there who really understood me, and they made her sit in the middle of the church with my Sociology professor. Guess it only figures they hooked up, after that."

Puck reached across the table and took her hand. "Hey," he said. "You know we'd let any girl of yours sit anywhere you wanted her to, right?"

"Whatever." Santana shrugged and made a face. "It's not like any of us can ever find something real again. It's why I settle for real _fun_, when I can get it."

Rachel leaned forward and squeezed his hand before he could pull it away. "Mine was one of the best days of my life." She blinked. "Afterlife. If you go into it with an open mind, I'm sure you'll find it's really a very uplifting and emotional experience."

"Whatever," Puck said, scanning his menu. "I think it's more like sitting on the middle of a giant circle jerk, but you know-different strokes."

Blaine's eyebrows rose practically to his hairline, involuntary visions of the entire Warbler lineup with pants around their ankles and fists blurring over their crotches filling his head.

"It's real hard to believe you're straight when you use the phrases "circle jerk" and "different strokes" in the same sentence, Puck," Kurt said, eyes focused on his own menu.

"Kurt!"

"What?" he asked, looking up at Rachel. "If I hadn't said it, Santana would have, and I'm sure her version would have been much cruder."

"Not today," Santana said with a sigh as she fell back against the booth. "I had the worst call last night. Guy had this totally weird bukkake fantasy and got pissed off when I couldn't tell which of like, six guys he was pretending to be. Worst. Call. _Ever_."

Puck looked impressed. "Worse than the one who wanted you to pretend to be his golden retriever?"

Santana paused. "You know, I think they sounded like the same guy."

Rachel threw down her menu and gave them each a stern look. "You're sick, you know that? It's Blaine's big day, and all you two can think about is...perversion."

"Wah, wah, wah," Santana said as Leslie approached. "If you get that stick out of your ass, let me know."

Kurt gathered everyone's menus and handed them to Leslie before the fight could continue. "Belgian waffles and orange juice for everyone."

"Coming up," she said, a strange expression on her face as she walked away.

"She's way too old for you."

Blaine looked to Rachel with a frown. "What?"

She addressed him with a tone of forced coolness. "The waitress. She's at least in her early thirties, so you should really stop mooning after her the way you always do."

"You think I'm mooning over her?" Blaine took a sip from the water glass in front of him and laughed. "Trust me, I'm not."

"Is it because she's black?" Rachel asked, suddenly indignant. "You know, I could be part black, myself, and I find it really offensive if you're dismissing her as a potential love interest because of her-"

"I'm not dismissing her because she's black, I'm dismissing her because I'm _gay_," Blaine said, loudly enough that the elderly couple two tables over looked up in surprise, sending a jolt through Blaine as their reactions registered.

"Oh." Rachel's eyes blew wide and her mouth snapped shut as she scrambled out of the booth. "You know, I think I heard my phone ring a minute ago. I should go to the ladies room and check my voicemail."

"You do that," Santana said with a laugh. "We'll just stay here and talk about how you're the only straight one left."

Puck frowned. "Dude!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You've let enough of Rachel's fake boyfriends suck your dick to know you can't get away with calling yourself straight."

Puck shrugged. "Hey, a mouth's a mouth. Can I help it if she keeps going for guys who know quality goods when they see them?"

Blaine stared at Kurt, ignoring to the bickering going on around him. "They can see me." He blinked his eyes and shook his head, looking back at the couple and ducking his head when he saw them return his gaze. "Are there more of us than I thought?"

Kurt took a sip of his water. "Yes, but those two aren't among them."

Blaine leaned over and spoke in a hushed whisper. "Then why can they see and hear me?"

Kurt took a breath and clasped his hands. "Because your body is being laid to rest today, and that means the rest of you is free to roam again-within reason, of course."

"Of course." Blaine nodded slowly, comprehension sinking in over a course of slow and steady increments. "So that means everyone can see that I'm sitting here in a-"

"Giant, headless bunny suit?" Kurt nodded as Blaine slumped against the back of his seat and looked to the ceiling for an answer he knew he wouldn't find. "I'll give you a ride-along with a few other things-and explain on the way. Besides," he looked to the others and shook his head as they continued their back and forth. "If you're going to your own funeral, it's for the best if you don't die all over again of embarrassment before you even get there."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Kurt handed Blaine a large, manila envelope before turning the key in the Mercedes' ignition. "This is for you."

"Casper Ferry?" Blaine asked, removing a small stack of papers with trembling fingers as his first meal in days threatened to make a second appearance. "I don't understand."

Kurt pursed his lips and flipped down the passenger visor, tapping at the mirror as Blaine shut his eyes and looked down. "I don't know if anyone ever told you," Kurt said dryly, "but mirrors don't help much if your eyes are closed."

"Right," Blaine said, taking a deep breath and raising his eyes. The face staring back at him was strange, like seeing a portrait of himself drawn by someone who'd never met him, or even seen a photograph. His brows were thinner, his nose wider, and his eyes a more basic brown than the hazel ones he'd always secretly thought his best feature. His mouth wasn't too far off, but something about its tilt still felt strange.

"Blaine Anderson, meet Casper Ferry. You'll find a new birth certificate, social security card, school records, and there should be a drivers license, unless you didn't already have one. If that's the case, it'll be a state issued ID. It won't solve all of your problems, but it's enough to give you a start."

Blaine looked inside the envelope one more time and pulled out a small, plastic card. "This says I'm twenty-three," he said.

Kurt nodded as he turned a corner. "Mmhmm." He hummed. "We all got a few years added when we, well, _you know_."

"Yeah," Blaine muttered. "I know."

"It makes things easier," Kurt said. "If you get an assignment in a club, or a bar, or any other place that checks ID, you need to be able to get in. It's why only really attractive people get to work in places like Hollywood; they have less trouble getting past the velvet ropes."

"How convenient." Blaine made a face as he put everything back into the envelope. "At least being older means I can have a glass of wine with dinner. I think I'm going to need one later."

Kurt nodded matter-of-factly and pulled to a stop as they approached a red light. "Probably. Now climb into the back and change. Fake fur isn't a good look in most situations, but at a funeral, it's practically unforgivable."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Kurt looked at the rambling house before them as he unfastened his seat belt. "Your parents have money."

"What?" Blaine asked from the backseat. "I mean, yeah, I guess. Dad's an investment banker and Mom's a lawyer, and-"

Kurt shook his head. "It was an observation, not a question."

"How'd you know?" Blaine asked, opening the door and climbing out. "Thanks for letting me wear this," he said, straightening the black suit and checking to make sure his tie was hanging properly.

Kurt joined him and hit a button on his key fob. "I couldn't let you show up at your own funeral looking like a stuffed animal, could I?" He slipped his keys back into his pocket and dug the point of his walking stick against the pavement. "They went with Kozlowski Brothers. They're the best in the state, and they charge accordingly. No bagging and tagging or cardboard box cremation for you."

Blaine winced. "Do people really do that?"

Kurt gave the stick a twirl and headed up the walk. "Yes," he said as he reached the door and held it open. "The ones who can't afford better do."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Blaine hung back as Kurt took hold of his sleeve and tugged him toward the casket at the far end of the room. "Do we really have to do this?"

"Yes, you do," Kurt said, stopping in front of his destination and raising his eyes appreciatively. "Excellent work."

"I know," Rachel gushed as she approached with a tiny cup of espresso. "I wish I'd been so lucky. My damage was so extensive they insisted on a closed casket. At least I got to be buried with the tiara. Not that they really had a choice, since they couldn't get it to come out." She took a sip and nodded toward Blaine's casket. "No one can do a cranial reconstruction like Wally. You can't even smell the sawdust."

Blaine felt his waffles begin to creep back up. "Sawdust?"

"Hush," Kurt told Rachel. "They don't use sawdust here. Mortimer and Sons, definitely, but you and I both know the Kozlowskis are better than that."

"True. They always get everything just right." Rachel reached out and poked at the dimple in Blaine's tie. "You really do look exquisite."

Blaine forced himself to look down and really try to absorb what he was seeing. The body in the casket _looked_ like him, alright, same face and hands and even that little scar on his jaw from the shaving accident he'd had when he was fourteen, but it was hard to reconcile its stillness with his own energy and eagerness. _If that's not me,_ Blaine thought to himself as he stared at his own face for what he then realized would probably be the last time, _what is?_

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"I'm sorry," Evan Anderson said from behind the podium. "We were hoping our other son would be here to speak on our behalf, but he's been unable to get away from work." He gave a rueful laugh and took a deep breath. "It's always been our family's biggest flaw. Iris, Cooper, myself, Blaine-workaholics, every one of us. Right now, it's hard not to look back and wish we'd let ourselves be more lazy. If Blaine hadn't been so much like us, he might be with us now.

"Blaine wasn't a difficult child, but he wasn't always easy to keep up with. Even if we hadn't both been in our forties when he was born, I don't know that Iris and I wouldn't have had our work cut out for us with him. We were proud, though, and we remain proud to this day. Our son was kind, and generous, and he never took anything for granted." Evan shook his head and paused. "I took my son for granted, and for that, I don't know if I can forgive myself. It never occurred to me that when the time came for us to say good-bye, our roles wouldn't be reversed. I put off spending time with him because I always thought there would be a better time."

Evan looked out at the crowd and forced himself to stand as tall as he could. "Talking about personal matters doesn't come easily to me. Talking about numbers is another thing, so I'm going to try and use that to tell you something I hope you take to heart. Every one of you probably has at least one person in your life who doesn't know how much you love them. It's too late for me to tell Blaine-"

"No, it's not," Blaine said under his breath as a lump formed in his throat and tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

"-but it's not too late for you. Find that one person, and don't make the same mistake I did. Don't assume you can wait until tomorrow because tomorrow doesn't always come the way you think it will."

Blaine stared at his hands as they sat on his thighs, formed into tight fists that were beginning to turn white at the knuckles. A white handkerchief draped over one, and Blaine looked to his side to see Kurt nodding toward it. "I came prepared."

"Thanks," Blaine said as his father retook his seat and Trent moved into place behind the podium.

"Boyfriend?" Kurt asked.

"Trent?" Blaine asked, half-laughing as he dabbed at his eyes, and feeling awful for it almost instantly. "No. Just a friend. Best friend I ever had, really."

Trent braced his arms against the podium and took a breath. "What can I say about Blaine Anderson? He was really good at Rock Band, but he sucked at Super Smash Brothers. He was the most confident performer I've ever seen, but he never had enough confidence off-stage to tell people how he really felt." He grinned. "Well, there was that one time at the Gap, but I think we all know how that turned out."

Kurt leaned in and whispered. "I sense there's a story to tell."

Blaine's cheeks colored as he twisted the handkerchief in his hands. "Not one you'll ever hear."

Titters of nervous laughter moved through the audience as Trent continued. "Blaine was the kind of guy who had a really easy time seeing the good in other people, but had a lot of trouble seeing it in himself. When he looked at himself, he never saw his kindness, or his good humor, or that dreamy smile of his that made everyone feel like the center of the universe when he looked at them. It's a shame he didn't know the person we all did, the one who'd drop almost anything to help a friend. The guy who'd spend all night going over his history notes with you so you could bring your grade up from a C to a B before the final. The one who never had to try and be a leader because people naturally wanted to follow him anyway." He laughed to himself and turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Let's be honest. Blaine was the guy who made us all feel inadequate because he never stopped doing something. If he wasn't at school, he was at fencing lessons, or playing polo, or out with those old cameras that were always locking up on him. Getting him to just chill out and watch a movie was like pulling teeth because he was always rushing from one thing to the next." Trent paused. "Maybe part of him knew he wasn't going to be around long. Maybe he wanted to make sure he packed as much life into his years as he could."

Trent pursed his lips and looked behind him to Blaine's casket. "That thing behind me isn't Blaine. It might look like him, but it's not him. Not really. Blaine wasn't something that could ever be put into the ground and forgotten. He might not be here with us-"

"Little do they know," Kurt leaned in to whisper into Blaine's ear.

"-but he isn't gone, either. Not as long as we remember him and keep him in our hearts. I know that won't be a problem for me, and I hope it's not a problem for any of you. Blaine was Blaine, and there won't ever be another like him." Trent looked back to the casket again and took another breath. "I'm going to miss you, Blaine. Maybe now, you'll learn to relax."

Trent turned his attention to a cluster of boys occupying the two rows behind Blaine's parents. "Nick? I'm ready, if you guys are."

"Oh, yeah," a boy with thick, dark hair said as he rose from his seat and joined Trent, the other boys following close behind in chorus.

Kurt looked on with obvious approval and nodded. "Interesting choice for a funeral."

Blaine flicked his eyes from the front, where Trent and Nick were leading the song, to Kurt and back again. "It's my favorite. It always has been."

"Even more interesting," Kurt said. "I never would have pegged you as a Bowie man."

"Are you kidding?" Blaine asked, turning to give Kurt his full attention. "I don't think I can trust anyone who doesn't like David Bowie. He's so amazing, he isn't even human. The man is a genius. I dare you to show me a human being more likely to spontaneously combust for reasons of physical perfection. Thin White Duke era?" Blaine gave a shiver of pleasure. "_Hot_."

A thin smile spread over Kurt's lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were enjoying yourself."

"You know, I think I-" Blaine frowned as the Warblers sang. "They got the lyrics wrong."

"What are you talking about?"

"That line," Blaine said. "They got it wrong. 'I can't trace time?' It's supposed to be chase, not trace. How do you trace time?"

Kurt's hand flew up to cover his mouth as a burst of laughter escaped. "I hate to break it to you, but they're not the ones who have it wrong."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Blaine insisted.

Kurt reached out and patted Blaine's knee. "Neither does chasing something that can't be caught."

Blaine thought about this as the Warblers continued, right up to the final lines, when six of them took hold of the casket's handles and began carrying it down the aisle. "I said that time may change me, but I can't chase time," Blaine quietly sang along with the final line as they left the room, his parents close at their heels.

Kurt made a thoughtful noise beside him. "I thought you understood it when I told you that's the wrong word."

Blaine nodded as the rest of the guests filed out. "I did, but I think the wrong word is right for me."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Family or friend?"

"Excuse me?" Blaine turned to find an unfamiliar boy standing beside him.

The boy flashed Blaine a smile that made something inside of him twist. It was somehow warm and cold at the same time, with the promise of excitement that Blaine wasn't sure he found more compelling or repellant. "I asked if you were a friend or part of the family."

"Neither," Blaine answered, buying a few seconds time to think of a better answer. "I knew him from fencing classes, but we weren't really close. He didn't have a lot of time to be social."

The boy dug his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "More's the pity. He was cute." Blaine's cheeks burned at the compliment, and his palms began to sweat as the boy-who was so tall Blaine thought he might finally understand what people meant when they talked about climbing someone like a tree-bent down to whisper in his ear. "But not as cute as you."

"Um, thanks?" Blaine said, trying to ignore the sense that he should be offended. "Who are you?"

"Sebastian Smythe," the boy said, offering his hand and holding Blaine's a bit too long once taken. "I was at the park the day it happened. I saw the obituary in the paper and thought I should pay my respects."

"Casper," Blaine said, extracting his hand even though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. "Ferry."

"I wouldn't call you butch," Sebastian said, eyes raking over Blaine, "but you're hardly a-"

"Excuse me, _Casper_?" Blaine blinked as he swung his neck in the other direction and spotted Kurt standing just inches from his shoulder. "I don't mean to rush you, but we should be going soon."

"He can stay a little longer, can't he?" Sebastian asked, not taking his eyes from Blaine's face. "I can give him a ride, if that's what he wants."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Casper can stay as long as he wants, but I don't think any rides from you are in his future."

Sebastian winked and took a step backward. "We'll see about that." He bowed deeply and waved his arm with a flourish. "Until we meet again, Casper."

"I'm twenty-three," Blaine said, largely for lack of anything more appropriate to say.

"That's okay," Sebastian said, winking as he spun on his heel and began to walk away. "My ID says I'm twenty-two."

Kurt held the length of his walking stick in both hands, sliding it in and out of his left fist as he watched Sebastian leave. "Stay away from him."

"I don't even know him."

"Good," Kurt said, taking the raven's head in one hand and twisting it back and forth absentmindedly. "Be sure you keep it that way."

"But why-"

"Never fails," Puck interrupted, sauntering up to them with a grin plastered across his face. "Only thing better than a wedding for picking up chicks is funerals, and I just snagged the hottest babe here."

Blaine looked over Puck's shoulder and dropped his jaw in horror. "That's my Aunt Olivia! She's in her forties, she's-"

"Hot and hungry for a young stud to wipe away her tears." Puck looked over at her and winked. "I'm gonna have her screaming so loud, the neighbors're gonna complain."

Blaine was aghast. "You're bringing her home?"

Puck lifted one eyebrow and nodded. "You didn't think I was gonna do her here, did you? Not even I'm that kinky."

"Puck, you know I appreciate everything you've done, what with letting me stay at your place and clearing out the extra bedroom so I could stop sleeping on the couch, but you know your house has no soundproofing, right? If I can hear you snore, I can hear you...do other things. With my Aunt."

"You could always stay with me," Rachel said with a too-big smile. "My apartment is as comfortable as it is clean, and I assure you there will be no inappropriate behavior of any sort."

"Actually," Kurt said, saving Blaine from an awkward response. "I was thinking Blaine should stay with me, tonight. He may need some time to think after this, and my place will probably offer the most peace and quiet."

Blaine breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said without looking up at him. "I'd really appreciate that."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"I was too preoccupied to notice before," Blaine said, looking down at the car's center console, "but that's a really interesting gear shift knob."

"What? Oh, yes," Kurt said as he ran his fingers over the chrome skull. "It came with the car. I sometimes forget it's even there."

Blaine looked around at the Mercedes' interior and nodded his approval. "Nice car. Dad almost bought one of these a few years ago, but Mom hates SUVs, so he got a C three hundred instead."

"Not bad," Kurt said, turning a corner. "Unless it's a four matic."

Blaine frowned. "What if it is?"

Kurt shook his head. "Then it's a good thing he can afford a decent mechanic." He ran his hand lovingly over the leather-clad steering wheel and patted it twice for good measure. "One of my first assignments was a mid-level mobster with big tastes."

Blaine's eyes widened. "You stole this from one of your.." he couldn't bring himself to use the word _reapings_. "From one of your assignments?"

Kurt nodded. "The condo, too, though I redecorated as soon as I could. He might have been dumb enough to think shooting heroin into his tongue was a good idea, but he was smart enough to pay cash for the big-ticket things. He was able to forge some papers and avoid having them listed among his assets, and I got a very nice car and place to live, once his habits got the better of him."

Blaine winced. "You talk about it so casually."

"Who's to say it isn't?" Kurt asked as he pulled into a parking structure beside a short, squat building made of more glass than seemed architecturally sound. He slotted the car into a space on the top level and unfastened his seat belt before putting the car into park and withdrawing the keys. "When most people think of Death-when they're forced to think about it at all-they panic. They have their reasons, sure; they'll say it's because they'll miss their families, or they're worried about how their friends will take it, or the things they'll leave undone, but what they're really saying, what all those things are really about, is that dying means there will come a day when they won't be here. They're so afraid of the idea that the world is capable of going on without them when they're gone that they spend the time they do have on this rock trying to pretend they have a choice.

"People have it so backward. Life is urgent, and they treat it like it's nothing. Death is casual," Kurt said, putting extra emphasis on the _is_. "It can happen anywhere, and at any time. For some people, like the ninety-eight year old who dies surrounded by four generations of offspring, it comes when we think it should. Most of us aren't that lucky. Most of us are just like you and me. You seem like a good person, and it's clear your friends and family loved you, but when it comes to Death, you are nothing special. The sooner you understand that, the better."

Kurt took another deep breath and shook his head and shoulders as he tried to comport himself. "I'm telling you this for your own good, you know. This job isn't always easy, but most of the time, it's only as hard as you make it. If you don't want to spend years in misery, you need to stop looking at what we do like it's a tragedy."

Blaine was still trying to process this as Kurt got out and grabbed the garment bag he'd left hanging in the backseat. "But what is it, if it isn't a tragedy?"

Blaine's door opened and Kurt stood facing him, a new softness behind his pale eyes. "A kindness."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Kurt turned and did an about face as he reached the door at the end of the hall. "Before I let you in, I want to make sure you understand this isn't going to be a regular thing. I'm only inviting you here tonight because Santana left early and I knew your only other options were putting up with Rachel or listening to Puck do unspeakable things with a woman who probably changed your diapers."

Blaine screwed up his face. "Did you really have to remind me?"

Kurt took a few breaths before he unlocked the door and waved Blaine inside. "You're only the third member of this crew, past or present, I've ever let come here. I'm not usually one for company."

Blaine entered the room and had to take everything in twice before he managed to convince himself what he saw was actually real. In various shades that ran in the vast range of black-gray-white, it was like something out of one of the design magazines his mother occasionally bought and left, half-read, sitting on the coffee table. It was so sleek and modern, Blaine wondered for a moment how anyone could actually find it comfortable before he thought of its inhabitant, and his questions went away.

"You must be hungry," Kurt said, stripping off his jacket and draping it over the back of a square, white, leather armchair. "I'll start on dinner as soon as I'm done with the flowers."

"Flowers?" Blaine's eyes followed Kurt as he strode across the room to a window that seemed to occupy most of the far wall. Along the floor, nestled against the glass, ran a neat trail of Calla Lilies in wide, black planters. "You grew those yourself?"

"Mmhmm." Kurt lowered himself on a bended knee beside one and rolled up his sleeves to expose forearms dusted with freckles and soft brown hair. He pressed the tips of three fingers against the soil and shook his head as he got up and retrieved a small metal watering can from behind the curtain. "I started a couple of years ago. It helps to have a hobby." He looked up at Blaine. "You should start thinking of one of your own."

"Like what?" Blaine asked, trying not to stare as the muscles of Kurt's legs and back stretched beneath his clothes with his movements.

Kurt replaced the can and ran a finger along the rim of one lily. "What do you like?"

Blaine considered the question for a moment. _Hot guys with nice bodies_, he thought to himself even as he opened his mouth to speak. "I like a lot of things. I used to play polo and take fencing lessons. I've been collecting cameras since I was ten. I like to sing, and dance, and-"

"Can I offer a suggestion?"

Blaine looked down as Kurt folded himself against the planter, legs spread with one folded beneath him and the other foot flat on the floor. "Yes?"

"I would be a hypocrite if I told you to avoid everything you used to enjoy, but you might want to think about trying something new. At least for now, while you're still adjusting."

Blaine braced his hands against the back of the couch and leaned back. "Why? Rachel still does community theater."

Kurt nodded. "And Rachel also resents being held back from what she sees as her true destiny. The more you try to chase the things you had in life, the more unsatisfied you're going to be. If you can find a way to make use of the things you enjoyed without confusing yourself about what you're doing, fine. It's how I supported myself before I got promoted. The difference between me and Rachel is that I made peace with it, and she only thinks she has."

Blaine tilted his head. "It's how you supported yourself before you got promoted? Does that mean you get paid for this now?"

Kurt nodded. "It isn't much, but it's enough to cover the basics. I still work a little bit from time, but the extra work that comes with my position makes it almost impossible to keep up with a real job."

"What did you do?"

Kurt smiled faintly as he rose to his feet. "You're wearing it."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"What are the others doing for dinner?"

Kurt swallowed and speared another bite on his fork. "That's up to them, isn't it?"

"Whatever it is," Blaine said as he rested his fork on his plate. "It can't be as good as this. How do you stand eating at Der Wafflehaus and Breadstix every day when you can cook stuff like this?"

Kurt picked up his napkin and wiped at his mouth. "I like cooking, but I think I'd enjoy it less if I had to do it three times a day. Most of my day is spent in my office here, so I take a break each afternoon to make myself a nice meal and enjoy it in peace without having to break up any fights or explain to Rachel why I can't schedule her assignments around her rehearsals and auditions. Der Wafflehaus and Breadstix aren't the best, but they're passable, and they have tables big enough to hold us all." He shrugged. "If everyone gets tired of one of them, we'll switch to someplace else for a while. The important thing is that we're all together at the beginning and end of the day."

Blaine took another sip of the white wine Kurt had served him with dinner. "Is that a rule, or something?"

Kurt cleared the table and brought the bottle of wine from the fridge to refill their glasses. "It is with me. Every group runs a little differently. It's getting more common for groups to only meet when they get a new member or they make a change in policy. Everyone gets their assignments in a text message and texts back once they've sent them on their way." He sat back down and took a drink. "I don't like that, though. It's too hard to know that everyone's on the same page and spot problems before they take hold. Some of the others say I'm too stiff and formal, but even with all of our drama, we're one of the most efficient groups in our region."

Blaine took another drink. Even if he hadn't been unable to consume anything for the last few days, he was pretty sure he'd just had the best meal of his life, and the wine was the perfect finishing touch. "I'm not surprised. I don't really know them yet, but it's obvious everyone has a lot of respect for you."

A soft pink grew into Kurt's cheeks. "Thank you. I work very hard to keep it."

Blaine finished his glass and motioned toward the bottle, refilling his glass when Kurt nodded. "Maybe you don't have to work as hard as you think."

"Maybe." Kurt lifted his glass and swirled the liquid inside, watching as it spun and clung to the sides. "Do you like cheesecake?" he asked, placing the glass back on the table and hopping up from the table. "I have half of one in the fridge. It's not as good as it was when it was fresh, but it's better than nothing."

"Do we-" Blaine stopped and forced himself to use the word he'd been shying away from since he'd realized it now applied to him. "Do reapers have to watch their weight?"

Kurt grinned as he took two forks from the caddy on the counter and dug them into the cheesecake. "I wouldn't eat like this, if we did. Our bodies don't change much while we're in this state, but it's still good to exercise and keep our energy up."

Blaine took one of the forks and broke off a bite after seeing Kurt do the same. "I like to exercise. I used to box a lot when I was upset. It's a good way to work through things."

Kurt rolled a mouthful of the dessert in his mouth and made a noise that Blaine hadn't thought existed out of the videos he used to watch with his headphones on after his parents had gone to bed. "I wouldn't have guessed you as a boxer when we met, but it makes sense now. You're more of a fighter than people think."

Blaine wasn't sure if he should be flattered or offended. "What about you? Tai Chi? Yoga? Qigong?"

Kurt gave a tiny laugh as he swallowed. "I've tried them all, but they're not for me."

Blaine dug his fork in and had a flash of how strange it probably was that they were eating straight from the pan together. "Really? You always seem so centered and in control of things. Stuff like that seems like it'd come naturally to you."

Kurt lifted the bottle and poured the rest into their glasses. "Not even close." Blaine stared at him expectantly, and Kurt sighed as he set the bottle aside. "I run."

"Like on a treadmill?" Blaine watched as Kurt shook his head. "Then where?"

Kurt's eyes dimmed as he sank back in his chair and downed half his wine in one gulp. "Wherever I end up before I feel like I've outrun whatever it is that's chasing me."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)


	4. Chapter 4

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Blaine opened a sleepy eye as the sounds of hushed voices crept in and pulled him from his sleep.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" a woman asked from the doorway. Blaine stretched his neck to try and see who Kurt was talking to, but the door was only open wide enough for Kurt to completely block the view. "You know if something is bothering you, you can always come to me."

"I know," Kurt answered, warmth and familiarity in his tone. "There is one thing I might want to discuss later, but I think I have it under control for now." The woman began to speak, only to be cut off before the first syllable could be completed. "You've always been there whenever I've had questions or needed help, but I want to try and solve this one on my own, okay? I promise I'll let you know if it turns out I can't handle it, but for now, I'm on top of it."

"Is that the only thing you're on top of?" the woman teased, and Blaine could swear he heard Kurt choke on his own breath.

"Blaine doesn't have a place of his own yet. I thought it would be nice to give him a break from the goings-on at Chez Puckerman." The woman tittered softly and Kurt's voice went higher in pitch as he continued. "He slept on the _couch._"

"Too bad," the woman said, her smile audible even through the faint lisp to her voice. "He's a real cutie. You know, Kurt, just because you're dead, it doesn't mean you should stop living."

Kurt cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you be going?"

She sighed. "Don't remind me. Ken's been pestering me for a meeting all month. I thought putting him in charge of the Plague Division would cut down on the amount of time I'd have to spend with him-between you and me, I'm not sure how he ever got promoted, in the first place."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Kurt said with obvious affection as Blaine caught a flash of avocado green and copper-penny-red in the hallway. "You should come early. I'll make those scones you like."

A thin arm curled around Kurt's shoulder as he leaned into the hall and bent over. "I'll do my best."

Blaine heard the door shut and made a big show of pretending to wake up. "What? Oh, Kurt. Hi. Good morning. I forgot where I was, at first."

Kurt gave him a withering look. "Cut the act and tell me how much you heard."

"Not much," Blaine admitted. "Nothing bad."

Kurt's eyes stayed on him for a few seconds as he slapped the manila envelope he was holding against the other palm. "Right," he finally said. "How did you sleep?"

"Great," Blaine said, pooling the blanket in his lap as he sat up. "Your couch is a lot more comfortable than it looks." _You're more comfortable than you look_, he thought to himself, remembering cheesecake and wine and sad smiles and unguarded moments from the night before. "More comfortable than where I've been at Puck's, anyway."

Kurt sank into the armchair a couple of feet away. "Don't you have your own room, now? I thought I heard something about Puck moving his eBay operation into the dining room."

Blaine made a face. "Yeah, but the only beds in the house are the one in Puck's room and um," his cheeks began to burn. "One shaped like a race car."

Kurt's eyes lit up. "I used to have one of those!"

Blaine couldn't help the shock from creeping into his face. "Really?"

"Yeah, I loved it." Kurt leaned back and smiled wide. "It's the one thing my dad and I always had in common. We both loved cars. The car show came into town every year right between our birthdays, so we made it a tradition. We'd get up early, have Belgian waffles-my choice-go to the car show, and stop for chili dogs-his choice-on the way home." He shook his head and laughed to himself. "It was always my favorite day of the year."

"Kurt?"

"Yes, Blaine?"

Blaine swallowed, his throat gone dry and scratchy. "What's your story?" Kurt was still so long, Blaine began to worry he'd crossed a line. He was just about to apologize and tell Kurt to forget he'd asked when the answer finally came.

"Leukemia." Kurt took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as possible. "I was gone less than three months after the diagnosis." He shook his head and pushed himself out of his chair, clearly agitated in spite of his efforts. "You should take a shower before we leave. I've left you some clothes on top of the hamper, and there are fresh towels on the rack. Extra toiletries are in the bottom drawer, if you need them. Master bath is right through the bedroom."

"Okay." Blaine got up from the couch, wrapping the blanket around himself to keep him more covered than his undershirt and briefs would on their own. "And I'm sorry. At least you didn't suffer too long?"

Kurt's voice was distant as he turned and stared at the lilies. "That depends on how you look at it."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

If Blaine had been unprepared for the thought of a little Kurt tucked into a race car bed (or a little Kurt at _all_), he was at a complete loss for words when he opened the door to his bedroom. The rest of the condo was nothing but clean lines in stark black and white with only a soft gray and the occasional bits of glass and metal to break it up and add dimension.

The bedroom, in all its vivid blues and greens, was like looking at the world through a peacock feather.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" Blaine said under his breath as he tried to take it all in. The colors were rich, yes, but so were the textures, and it all served to make the room feel almost as if it had a life all its own. Blaine could almost swear he felt its pulse, like being in the center of an aqua-colored heart.

He took a few steps and ran his fingers over a burst of gold at the corner of the bed. The beading was beautiful, but its edges felt hard and almost sharp beneath his fingers. That much, at least, seemed to make sense. Like Kurt, his sofa, even the lilies, the bed made you want to look at it without inviting touch. His eyes drifted to the headboard, where pillows of silks and velvets in vivid, jeweled hues sat in artful disarray. _He makes his own comfort_, Blaine thought to himself, and like the sofa and Kurt himself the evening before, Blaine wondered it there wasn't something softer beneath the bed's prickly surface, after all.

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Dude, your aunt is _awesome_."

Blaine dropped his fork. "I think I've lost my appetite."

Puck rolled his eyes and shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "I'm not just talking about the way she knocks the boots. I mean, she's _really_ awesome at that, but I meant, like, the whole deal. She's really cool."

Santana draped an arm around Puck's shoulders. "Are you actually going to see this one again?"

"If she's up for it," Puck said. "I haven't been this bowled over for a chick since..." he looked off into the distance and counted silently on his fingers. "Damn. I think it was my last high school girlfriend."

"That's like, twenty years ago," Santana said, putting down her coffee and staring at him. "What happened? Did she run off with a bass player and break your little flannel-covered heart?"

Puck flicked his fingers against a strawberry and grinned when it landed on her white blouse. "Yeah, except for the part where she got recruited by the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling and got paid serious ducats to grope chicks way hotter than you'll ever get."

"Wait," Blaine said, doing some quick math in his head. "If you were in high school twenty years ago, you'd be close to forty now, right?"

Puck pulled the straw from his shake and ran his tongue along the length; fat, pink drops sticking to his chin. "Thirty-seven next month. Bein' your aunt's like, forty-two, it's not as weird as you thought, is it?"

"No, well, yeah, kind of, I mean-" Blaine put his face in his hands and took a breath. "It's still weird, but it's weird because she's my _aunt_, you know?"

Puck dropped the straw back into his glass and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Look, I really dig Olivia. She's way too good for a bum like me, and it's not like someone in our line of work can be with anyone long-term, but I kinda' wanna see where things can go with this. She's really special, man."

Santana cackled next to him. "Just don't pull any of your weird, kinky shit with her. Their family just had one funeral, don't make them wish they'd gone somewhere with a buy one, get one deal."

"Dude!" Puck scooted away from her and pulled a face. "That is so not cool."

Blaine fell back against the booth and shook his head as he stared at the ceiling. "Do I even want to know what Santana's talking about?"

"You mean you don't know?" Santana asked, her face lit up like a tree on Christmas. "This loser," she jerked a thumb at Puck. "Accidentally hung himself while he was jerking off."

"It's called autoerotic asphyxiation," Puck told her. "You should try it, sometime. The orgasms are _outstanding_."

Santana snickered. "Thanks, but I don't need to throw a belt around my neck to get off."

"Can we please discuss something else?" Rachel asked. "It's getting very difficult to enjoy my food."

"Agreed," Kurt said, producing the now familiar stack of gray envelopes. He handed them out one by one, giving a little flourish as the last one went to Blaine.

Blaine held the envelope between two fingers and looked as if he was afraid it might bite. "Are you sure I'm ready to do one of these on my own?" he asked. "My body's not even cold, yet."

"Body begins to cool almost instantly," Kurt said dismissively. "And you spent three days shadowing the others. Don't tell me you can't do this because I know you can."

Blaine opened the envelope and studied the notecard within. Something about Kurt's tone made him feel warm inside, almost proud. "This says I need to be there in an hour and a half." Kurt made a small noise of agreement and Blaine stared for a second before he continued. "What am I supposed to do when I'm done?"

Kurt popped the last bite from his fruit cup into his mouth and swallowed. "Find a job."

"What does he need a job for?" Leslie asked as she appeared and began refilling their coffees. "I thought you all got paid for doing the Lord's work."

"Casper's new to the area," Kurt said. "He needs something to keep him afloat until he gets enough souls under his belt."

"Oh, yeah?" Leslie eyed Blaine with interest. "Other place I work is hiring. If you're good with noise and fools, the pay isn't bad."

"Oh, I don't know," Blaine said, shooting Kurt a panicked look. "I'm not so good with...fools."

"I don't know about that," Kurt said, gesturing to the others. "You're good enough with these yahoos."

Leslie grabbed one of the napkins from the center of the table and scribbled the park's phone number on it. "Ask for Sid; tell him I gave you his number. Bunch of people quit this week. He'd probably hire anybody, at this point."

"Great," Blaine said, napkin in one hand and envelope in the other. "That makes two things I really don't want to do today."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Three hours later, Blaine was sitting on the number thirty-three and trying not to panic.

It wasn't that he hadn't tried. He had, he really had, but once he'd found himself on that porch with his finger above the buzzer, something inside him froze and kept him from making any contact. "You can do this," he'd muttered to himself a handful of times, staring at the doorbell as if doing so hard enough would push it for him. "Just ring the bell, sweep his arm when he answers, and you're done. You've seen all the others do it; it's not that hard."

_You haven't seen Kurt do it, _he thought to himself as the bus approached the place he knew he shouldn't be headed, but couldn't bring himself to avoid. He tried to tell himself the thought only occurred to him because of the others, Kurt was the only one he hadn't spent a day shadowing, but he knew it wasn't true. Everyone had their own style. Rachel was perky and played up the drama of the situation. Santana was direct and to the point. Puck's attitude could almost be summed up in the phrase "sucks to be you," if he didn't do his job with such humor and warmth.

What was Kurt like?

What would _Blaine_ be like?

He shook his head and dug his hands into his pockets as his bus reached his stop. So far, the only answer to that last question was "disappointing." Blaine had never been one to shirk from his responsibilities before, but no matter how hard he'd tried, he hadn't been able to make himself ring that bell and do what he knew he had to do.

So he'd run. Run for the nearest bus stop and headed for the first place he could think of, even as his conscience screamed at him to turn and get as far from it as he could manage and an imaginary band tightened around his chest and made it difficult to breathe.

"Cooper," he heard himself saying when he reached the house and spotted his brother dropping a large, cardboard box beside a stack of others at the curb.

"The one and only," Cooper said, kicking the bottom box with the toe of his boot. "I know this must be a big moment for you, but it's not a good time."

"When did you get here?" Blaine asked, placing himself across from Cooper with the can standing in between. "You weren't at the funeral."

Cooper's head shot up from it's focus on the can and his jaw formed a hard line. "What is wrong with you? I was giving you the benefit of the doubt because I know how intimidating it can be to meet someone as famous as I am. I thought maybe you were so starstruck at seeing me that you didn't remember the story on E! News about how my brother died last week." He pointed at the house and leaned forward, bringing his face just inches from Blaine's. "Our parents have been avoiding his room since it happened. I took a red eye last night and didn't even close my eyes before I started packing his room for some charity shop because our folks said they can't sleep knowing it's in the house, but they can't make themselves stay in his room long enough to deal with it. They couldn't even pick out the clothes he was buried in; they had his friend do it for them. My dad hasn't said a word since I got here a few hours ago. Mom hasn't stopped crying. _I_ almost got arrested for punching Michael Bay in the face when he told me he couldn't let me off set in time to go to Squirt's funeral."

Blaine threw up his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I-" he rushed to think of an excuse. "I'm a fan. I guess I got too excited about seeing you to think about-"

"And people say _I _don't think enough." Cooper gave one last punch at a plastic bag resting on top of another stack of boxes. "Send a letter to my agent and I'll have her send you an autographed headshot. Seriously; it's really not a good time."

Blaine stared into his brother's eyes, so bright and blue like the center of the hottest flame. "I-I know you're serious. I can tell because you're pointing and speaking really loudly."

Cooper's eyes turned to two small slits of undisguised disgust as he lifted the bag and hurled it at Blaine, hitting him square in the chest and sending him staggering back. "You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I call the cops, you sick fuck."

Blaine's blood ran cold as he clutched the bag and turned to run for the second time that day.

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Thank you for fitting me in," Blaine said as he took a seat opposite the cheap metal desk. He'd never been in Mister Gerritsen's office during his previous stint as an employee-the park was brand new, after all, and Blaine had been just one of many people at the mass interviews and training sessions that had taken place in the lead up to their grand opening.

Mister Gerritsen shuffled through a small sheaf of papers without meeting Blaine's eye. "You don't have a lot of experience."

"No, sir, but I'm a quick learner, and I'm good with people, and I-"

"What are your feelings on costumes?" Mister Gerritsen asked before Blaine could finish speaking. "We have a very important position that needs immediate filling, but we've had some difficulty in finding anyone suitable."

Blaine's palms grew cold and clammy as he realized exactly what position Mister Gerritsen meant. "Well," he began, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. "I'm kind of claustrophobic, so I don't know if that would be a good idea."

"I was afraid of that." Mister Gerritsen sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing at his furrowed brow with his thumb and middle finger. "We have other openings, but I had hoped-" he broke off and looked back to Blaine. "We've lost a lot of people this week and we haven't had enough applicants to replace them so I'm afraid I can't afford to turn anyone away. Can you operate a cotton candy machine? Make balloon animals? Have you ever worked a deep fryer or a cash register?" He sighed again as Blaine shook his head. "Can you draw a bunny?"

Blaine picked up one of the pens littering the desk and did a quick doodle on the back of one of the business cards sitting in a tray. "Like this?"

"That's not bad," Mister Gerritsen said, taking the card from him.

Blaine smiled. "I grew up with the Fantastic Forest books. I used to draw the characters all the time."

Mister Gerritsen cocked an eyebrow as he looked over the card at Blaine. "Think you can do that on the face of a squirming toddler?"

Blaine sucked in his breath. "I can try."

"Congratulations," Mister Gerritsen said, stretching across his desk to shake Blaine's hand. "You're our newest face painter. Fill out your paperwork with Janice and be here tomorrow at ten."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"I had a feeling today was going to be my lucky day."

Blaine looked up from his cup of coffee at the boy settling into the seat across from him. "Sebastian. Hi." He racked his brain for things to say and came up empty. "What are you doing here?"

"Drinking what this _fine_ establishment thinks passes for espresso." Sebastian held up his demitasse and made a face. "I should have known better. What about your pretty little face? You should be happy to know I'm free this evening, if you'd like to spend your time with something a little more exciting than sub-par coffee and stale croissants."

Blaine pulled back his plate as Sebastian's hand moved toward the almond croissant Blaine had been eating with his coffee. "It's not stale. It's pretty good, actually. The filling is really-"

"Fascinating," Sebastian said, his smile still locked in place. "Speaking of fillings-"

"I should really get going," Blaine said, wrapping the croissant in a napkin and getting up from his seat. "I've got someplace to be."

Sebastian leaned back into his seat and kept his eyes on Blaine as he got up. "How about tomorrow? I'll buy you dinner."

"I'm having dinner at Breadstix tomorrow." Blaine looked around for the nearest exit. "I'll see you around."

"Don't worry," Sebastian said as Blaine walked away. "I'm sure you will."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"You're here early."

"Yeah, well," Blaine took his straw in hand and speared it through one of the ice cubes floating in his glass of Coke. "I did what I had to do and I didn't want to bother Puck when I was done, so I-"

"Bullshit."

"Sorry?"

Kurt grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him out of the booth and to his feet. "Did you really think you could get away with something this stupid? Did you think for even one second no one would find out? I told you before, Blaine; I know _everything_."

"This happened sooner than I thought it would," Santana said, not even batting an eye as she slid into the booth. "Don't forget, boys. We might be almost indestructible, but that's still gonna hurt like a bitch if you don't lube up first."

"We're not-" Kurt jerked at Blaine's arm again and rolled his eyes. "Look, something came up."

She snickered. "I'll say."

"Santana!" Kurt's face was turning red and veins were beginning to stand out against his neck and temple. "Just tell the others we'll see them in the morning. Cover the bill and I'll pay you back in the morning."

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms against her chest as she looked up at him. "But I want a day off, next week. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a decent bikini wax without an appointment?"

"I'll see what I can do," Kurt said, tugging Blaine behind him as he stormed for the doors. "I've got bigger problems, at the moment."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Should we ring the bell, or-"

Kurt scrunched his mouth into a tight knot as he lowered himself to one knee and lifted the edge of the welcome mat. "What's the point in ringing a bell if there's no one to hear it?" He muttered a few choice words under his breath as he dropped the mat back into place and rose to his feet. "There has to be some way in."

Blaine jerked his thumb off to the side. "There's a back fence. I might be able to hop it and find a way in from the yard."

"I don't like drawing attention to ourselves, but if it's the only option we have..." Kurt trailed off as he followed Blaine around the house. "I think you were being optimistic."

"What? Oh." Blaine's face fell as he took in the tall, cinderblock wall. "Maybe if I can find something to climb on, or-"

"Here," Kurt said, lacing his fingers together and planting his feet shoulder width apart near the wall. "I'll give you a boost."

Blaine hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't want to-"

"_Blaine_," Kurt said, exasperation tinged with anger in his voice. "It's either you or me, and since it's your fault we're here, it's upsy-daisy for you."

"Okay, okay." Blaine said, taking a deep breath as he placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders and stepped into his waiting hands. He wobbled a little as he and Kurt both worked to heft him over the wall, but his concern over potentially falling was dwarfed by his embarrassment when he managed to somehow hit Kurt squarely in the face with his ass as he scrambled over the wall. _Just my luck_, he thought to himself. _I finally get a guy to touch my ass, and he's my boss. And dead. And so am I. And I'm not sure which is worse._

"Is there a lock?" Kurt asked from the other side of the wall.

"No," Blaine said, breathing a sigh of relief as he lifted the peg that kept the swinging metal door shut. "Thanks, and um, sorry."

Kurt waved him off. "Let's just focus on why we're here." He took the knob of a nearby door in hand and turned it, then let the door drift open on its own as something in the yard caught his eye. "I think that's him." He looked at Blaine and tilted his head toward a tree in the far corner. "Go. Look."

Blaine tried to focus on breathing steady as he made his way across the yard, finally stopping at the broken branch that lay beneath a large tree. A man lay pinned beneath it, his face a quiet mask of peace surrounded by fallen leaves.

"He isn't going to reap himself," Kurt said from Blaine's shoulder. "_Do it_."

"But he's already gone," Blaine protested. "He's already dead, so there's nothing I can-" Blaine's words ended in a wordless scream as Kurt grabbed his hand and forced him down to touch the man's face. His head rang as the man begged for someone to let him free, his desperate screams more animal than man.

"Do you understand?" Kurt asked, his voice more heavy with urgency than Blaine had ever heard from anyone in his life. "Do you _understand_?"

"I think so?" Blaine said, the man's cries still ringing in his head and making it hard for him to think.

Kurt let go of his hand and looked into his eyes. "This is why we do this. Do you understand? You may have been the star of your own life, but you are only a minor character in the story that is the world's. I know that hurts, but it's true. You don't get to say what is and isn't fair, because you're not important enough to make the rules. You don't get to decide if someone lives or dies. Death doesn't serve us, _we _serve _it._"

"I tried!" Blaine said. "I tried to do it, but I-"

"Try harder, next time." Kurt's expression was grave as he looked at him. "You are not important, but what you do _is_. Ask yourself what would have happened to you if Jean hadn't done her job. Think about what you just heard and try to imagine living it first-hand. Imagine lying there with that weight-"

Blaine covered his mouth and fought the urge to retch at the thought. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I-"

"Never mind the excuses," Kurt said, holding a hand in front of him. "What did you do, when you were supposed to be doing your job? Did you catch a movie? Find a corner of the library to hide in? Loiter in a public park?" Blaine's eyes narrowed as that one. "Or did you do the same thing you did when you should have been with Rachel, and go to the one place we've all told you you shouldn't?"

"You knew about that?"

"I told you, I-"

"Know everything, got it." Blaine fell against the tree and slid to the ground. "It wasn't on purpose. I didn't know where else I could go, so I guess I went there because I hoped it would make things easier."

Kurt squatted beside him, fingers laced together as one arm draped over his knee. "Did it?"

Blaine shook his head. "I saw my brother, and he-I've never seen him so angry."

Kurt's tone was firm, though not unkind. "He's dealing with the loss of his baby brother, whom I'm sure he loved. He probably feels a lot of things right now. Loss, pain, hurt, absence, take your pick but what he probably felt most when you saw him was pissed off that someone he didn't know was in his face during what might be the worst thing he's ever lived through." Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand mirror. "This," he said, holding it up to Blaine's face, "is not the face of the boy he remembers. It means _nothing_ to him."

Blaine closed his eyes and turned his head. "He wasn't the Cooper I know. He said he punched Michael Bay because he's the reason Coop wasn't able to be at my funeral. He's never punched anyone, before. He never even gave me a noogie when I was little." He took another breath and sighed. "He said Dad isn't talking and Mom won't stop crying. I can't remember ever seeing my mom cry."

Kurt put the mirror back into his pocket and reached out to pat Blaine's shoulder. "You died less than a week ago. If they were sitting around playing Parcheesi, you would have been hurt that they'd moved on so fast." Blaine fell into him, too much in pain to let himself be embarrassed or self-conscious when Kurt's hand slid around him in a half-hug, the look on his face softening as he did. "Blaine...there's a reason Hope was the last thing left in Pandora's box. As long as you don't answer certain questions, you can let yourself believe anything you want."

Blaine wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and forced a laugh. "When you're promoted, do they give you a class on how to talk to the noobs?"

"No," Kurt said with a sad smile. "Just speaking from experience."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Blaine took the cup of tea and held it with both hands. "Thanks."

Kurt sat beside him and took a sip from a cup of his own. "I thought you could use something to calm your nerves."

"Yeah." Blaine took another sip and let it roll around on his tongue. "Did I do it right?"

"If we forget about the part where you didn't do it when you were supposed to and you left him trapped inside his corpse for half the day, you were excellent." Kurt blew over his tea to cool it before taking another sip. "I knew you would be."

Blaine lowered his cup and turned to face him. "Really?"

Kurt nodded. "I told you it's only as hard as you make it, but some people are better suited to it than others. I know it's still hard for you to understand, but it's the same things that make this so hard for you now that make you such a good candidate."

Blaine felt his cheeks warm as he took another sip. "Thank you," he said once he'd swallowed. "It means a lot that you think so." He looked around the room they sat in and took a breath. "This is a nice house. It feels...cozy."

"Hold that thought," Kurt said as the doorbell rang. He set his cup on the coffee table and walked behind the couch to answer the door.

"This the Duggan place?" asked a burly guy in dark blue coveralls. "We got a call to do a pick up?"

Kurt held to the doorway as Blaine joined him. "He's in the back, we thought it was best if we didn't move him."

The guy nodded. "Good call. You family?"

"Yes," Kurt said, placing a hand on Blaine's chest. "This is his grandson. The rest of the family lives in Pennsylvania, I'm afraid."

The guy looked at each of them in turn. "What about you? You his boyfriend, or something?"

"You guessed it," Kurt said, rocking back and forth on his heels as he gripped tight to Blaine's hand, something cold and metal pressing between their palms. "I should have left half an hour ago, but I wanted to wait with him until Herman was gone." Blaine opened his mouth to speak and almost fell backward when Kurt cut him off by pressing their lips together. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but it was still enough to send Blaine reeling. "I'm sorry I can't stay. I'll see you in the morning, okay?" Blaine nodded mutely, and Kurt sent him a meaningful look as he patted his chest one more time. "Now go tuck yourself into that big bed down the hall and try to get some sleep. You've had a long day. You deserve it."

The guy thrust forward a clipboard as Kurt pulled back. "All we need's a signature. Either one of you can sign it."

Kurt took the pen and signed with a flourish, leaving Blaine to look at the ring of keys Kurt had given him. "Remember what I told you," Kurt said as he squeezed past the guy and backed down the walk. "You're going to be okay."


	5. Chapter 5

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Wakey wakey. Time to get us some eggs and bac-ey."

Blaine screamed when he opened one sleepy eye and found Puck's staring right back at him. "What are you doing here?"

Puck pulled back and tossed the plastic bag Cooper had thrown at him onto the bed. "Thought you'd want this. And this."

Jean's Briarpatch Bunny doll flew from Puck's hand, landing face-down on Blaine's lap. "Thanks," he said, picking it up and setting it on the nightstand. He opened the bag and found it full of his old clothes; polo shirts, sweater vests, jeans and underwear stuffed in without care or regard for creases or folding. It stung to think of it being left on the curb, but if it hadn't been intended for the thrift shop, he wouldn't have had the chance to get any of it back, either.

"Didn't think so," Puck said, looking around the room. "Nice digs, by the way. Kurt really hooked you up."

Blaine's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"The place," Puck said. "He coulda' given you a real shithole."

"No," Blaine said, setting the bunny on the nightstand. "Kurt didn't give me this. It belonged to the guy I-" he broke off, the realization washing over him. "He gave me that assignment so I could get the house, didn't he?"

Puck slapped his hands on his thighs as he got up. "Yup. Lotsa bosses keep an eye out for a good match when a new guy shows up. Kinda makes it easier to find a groove when you're not couch-surfing." He jerked his thumb toward the garage. "You seen your wheels, yet?"

"Wheels?" Blaine scrambled from the bed and ran past Puck until he reached the garage door. Inside, a funny yellow convertible in need of a good coat of wax sat squat and low to the ground. "Holy shit," he said dumbly.

Puck grinned as he sidled up next to him. "Fifty Studebaker Champion. Puppy's older than you and Rachel put together. Geezer who used to live here probably bought it new." He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I looked in the glove compartment before I woke you up. Anyway, good for you. Kurt must think you're pretty rad to give you such a sweet deal."

Blaine curled his lips between his teeth and ran the tip of his tongue over them, thinking of the kiss Kurt had given him the night before. "Maybe," he said noncommittally. "Are you sure this is all legal? Living here, driving the car, all that stuff?"

Puck gave an amused grunt. "You'd be surprised what we can get away with. Word on the reaper grapevine is there's a department that helps throw the fuzz off us. Don't know if I believe it, but you know, whatever. Now hurry up and get ready. I wanna get my grub on."

"Right," Blaine said, tearing his eyes away from the car and taking a step back into the kitchen. "Wait a second. How did you know where to find me?"

Puck looked at him like he must be an idiot. "I texted Kurt. I banged on your door for like, five minutes before I tried opening it. You should lock that thing, you know. Any freak could just let themselves right in if you don't."

Blaine looked at Puck for a moment before he trusted himself to speak. "Thanks. I'll make a note of that."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Hey, Bunny Boy," Santana said as Blaine slid into the booth beside her. "Hear you've moved up to a big boy bed."

"Hey!" Puck glared at her as he slid in beside Rachel on the other side. "That race car bed is awesome. I'd sleep in it every night, if I could fit in it."

Blaine ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "You're not helping, Puck."

"If the talk about who's sleeping where is done, can we get down to business?" Kurt asked, a strange edge to his voice as he handed out the day's envelopes. First Rachel, then Puck, then Santana, then nothing.

Blaine did a double-take to make sure he hadn't missed something. "What about me?"

Kurt scanned his menu and screwed his mouth to one corner. "Yours isn't until later. I thought it would be best not to schedule you during the day, in case it interfered with your new job."

Blaine paused. "Did I tell you about that last night?"

Kurt took a sip from his water glass and shook his head. "No."

Blaine shook his head and flipped his menu open. "You know everything. How dumb of me to forget."

"Actually," Kurt said, setting his glass on the table. "Leslie told me when I was seated."

"Oh," Blaine said, feeling more than a little sheepish. "I should be off in time for dinner."

Kurt clasped his hands and ran the tip of his thumb against his wrist. "I hope you are," he said, his words sounding cold and far away. "I don't want you to keep this one waiting."

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"Mommy, look!" Blaine smiled as the little girl ran to with braids flying. "He made me look just like you!"

Leslie lowered herself to bended knee and tucked one braid behind the little girl's ear. "Julisa Rei Stewart, are you trying to tell your momma she looks like a big, furry thing?"

Julisa giggled. "When you're Sycamore, Mommy. Don't I look like her?"

Leslie picked Julisa up and held her to her chest. "You look just like her, baby, only better." She looked over the little girl's shoulder at Blaine. "How much?"

Blaine waved a hand. "On the house-I don't feel right charging employees. Just do me a favor and don't tell Sid, okay? I'm pretty sure he disagrees."

"Hrm," Leslie shook her head. "If he could charge us for cleaning the costumes, he would."

Julisa squirmed in Leslie's arms and thrust one arm out in front of her. "Mommy, can we go on the acorn ride next? Pleeeeeaaaase?"

"If we go on one more ride, I don't think I'm gonna have to worry about that french toast I had for breakfast," Leslie grumbled just loud enough for Blaine to hear.

Blaine looked at the two of them and smiled. "She's just excited. How many times have you brought her?"

"This is the first. I was gonna take her Monday, but I got called in." She leaned forward. "Tell me you know what happened here, so I don't have to explain."

Blaine's smile fell. "An accident, right?" He looked down and began fumbling with his brushes, scrubbing one in a vat of soapy water.

Leslie's mouth formed a hard knot. "If you can call it that. I told Sid we needed to do a walk through of all the stations before we opened but he didn't want to cough up the extra hour for payroll. I don't like talking about people behind their backs, but if you and those friends of yours could find some time to come down here and give that Sid a talking-to, it might be just what he needs." She huffed. "If it's not too late, already."

"Mommeeeeeeeeeee!" Julisa wriggled harder in Leslie's arms. "Aaaaaaacooooooorns!"

"Alright, baby." Leslie flashed Blaine a grin and rolled her eyes. "If I let her do whatever she wants today, maybe she won't pitch a fit when I say we can't come back on Sunday. This place is gonna be crawling with foolishness and I want no part of it."

Blaine cocked his head. "Why's that?"

Leslie's mouth fell open. "Tell me you did not just ask me that. Of all the people here, I would think _you_ would know how important Sunday is."

The answer hit Blaine like a ton of bricks. "Forgive me. I'm afraid I busy myself so much with the real meaning of Easter that it hadn't occurred to me the park might be a more popular destination than the church."

"Not for me," Leslie said, kissing Julisa's forehead. "Sunday morning, I will be exactly where I belong-in the choir box."

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Blaine parked the car in such a hurry, he almost forgot to take the keys from the ignition. Traffic getting out of the park had been a nightmare, and he swore he'd hit every red light along the would have been infuriating enough on a good day, but after everything that had happened the day before, Blaine was especially loathe to give Kurt any reason to think he wasn't taking things seriously.

He ran for the door and flung himself through the door at full speed, only to collide with a body on the other side. "Ah, good. You're here. I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up."

Blaine crumpled a little. _Why me?_ he asked himself as he tried to squeeze past. "I can't stand you up, because I never agreed to go out with you in the first place. I told you, I have plans."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "And I told you they should be with me."

"I'm not _interested_," Blaine insisted, doing his best to stand tall. It wasn't easy-Sebastian had to have half a foot on him-but he wanted to make it clear he was being serious. "I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings, but-"

Sebastian laughed. "Hurts my _feelings_? What are we, in junior high?"

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea what you are," Kurt said, his tone icy as he came up the rear, the walking stick in hand. "You'll go away now, if you have any sense."

Sebastian wet his lips as he turned his attention to Kurt. "Or what?"

Kurt planted both hands on top of the stick's handle and pressed down. "Or you're going to be very, _very _sorry."

Sebastian flashed one more look at Blaine before he nodded. "Another time."

Kurt turned to watch as Sebastian left. "For everyone's sake, let's hope not."

"What is with you?" Blaine asked once the doors had shut.

Kurt took one hand off the walking stick and stretched his fingers, gone white from tension. "I told you to stay away from him. That's all you need to know."

"But why?" Blaine asked. "Not that I have any interest in him, but what business of yours would it be, if I did?"

Kurt straightened his coat. "I have my reasons."

"What, like jealousy?" Blaine asked before he could stop himself.

Kurt's resolve visibly faltered just long enough for him to cough and look away. "I don't know what you're talking about. You are under my watch, and I'm doing the job I'm supposed to do. That's it."

"Oh, yeah?" Blaine asked, taking a step in front of Kurt to face him. "Then why did you kiss me?"

Kurt's cheeks began to pink. "I had to come up with something on the spot. I wanted to make it look convincing; that's all."

Blaine shook his head. "You could have said I was renting a room. You could have said we were cousins. You could have said we were neighbors. There were other options than calling yourself my boyfriend, and even if you said that anyway, you didn't have to kiss me to make them believe it."

"Now is not the time for this discussion," Kurt said, looking at his watch. "You should have been here an hour ago. If we don't leave now-"

"If _we_ don't leave?"

"Yes," Kurt said, staring Blaine in the eye. "If _we_ don't leave now, _you_ are going to be late to your second appointment in a row and trust me-this is one you do _not_ want to fuck around with."

Blaine pulled back and kicked the door open. "Fine," he said. "Lead the way."

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"I still don't understand why we couldn't take two cars," Blaine muttered as he pulled up to the sprawling complex of flat, stucco buildings.

"I have my reasons," was all Kurt said as Blaine parked the car.

Blaine withdrew the keys and turned his eyes to Kurt. "Envelope?"

Kurt shook his head. "Not this time," he said, unfastening his seat belt and opening his door. "Follow me."

A boil of apprehension-or hunger, maybe, since he'd skipped lunch-rolled in Blaine's stomach as Kurt led the way to a door about fifty feet away. "This isn't how it's normally done," Kurt said just above a whisper as they entered.

"What isn't?" Blaine asked as he followed close behind.

"This isn't our division." Kurt looked at his feet and took a deep breath before lifting his head once more. "I had to call in a favor."

A young woman in navy blue scrubs paused as she emerged from one of the nearby doors. "Can I help you?"

"No, thank you," Kurt said, gesturing to a door halfway down the hall. "We're almost there."

The woman looked him up and down for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay. Use the call button if you need anything, once you're there."

"Why would you-" Blaine began to ask as the nurse turned and walked away, stopping when he noticed how shallow Kurt's breathing had suddenly gotten. "Are you okay?"

Kurt shook his head and turned the knob of a door marked _616_, pushing it open a couple of inches when it gave. "Please," he said, his voice thick and wet. "Do it now."

Blaine kept his eyes on Kurt as he entered the room, almost dark except for the early evening light filtering through the window in the center of the opposite wall. "Hello?" he asked, looking for any signs of life.

"Who'sat?" a voice grumbled from a bed in the far corner. A nondescript dresser stood facing it from another wall, an old TV perched on top. Beside the bed sat a squat nightstand topped by a few small picture frames and a strange remote tethered to the bed's rails by a thick cord, a large, red button taking up much of the bottom half.

"Hi," Blaine said, clinging to the doorway as a heavy-set man with thinning hair turned his head on the pillow to face him. "How are you?"

"How'm I?" the man asked, his voice lazy and slow. "He wants to know how I am. How am I? Same's every time one of you sonovabitches asks me. I'm cold. I'm tired. I'm one big ball of pain and I'm sick and fucking tired of bein' here and all I want's the same thing I wanted that put me here'n the first place."

"Oh?" Blaine asked, his feet feeling strange and foreign beneath him as he approached the bed. "What's that?"

The man looked up at him with blue eyes filled with so much pain Blaine had to turn away. "I want to _die_."

Blaine pulled back. He knew, of course, that the man would get his wish, but hearing it stated so plainly and without hesitation wasn't something Blaine had been prepared for. "And why do you want that?"

"'Cause I lost the only things I ever cared about." The man pointed to the pictures beside his bed. "Not much reason to stick around, without them here."

Blaine felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he turned his head to the frames sitting on the bedside table. He knew what he'd see before they even came into focus, but it didn't stop the air from being knocked from his lungs when he picked up a frame and recognized the face poking out from beneath a red mortarboard. "Is this your son?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Only one I ever had," the man said, a faint smile finally creeping across his face. "Been gone five years, now. His mom left five years before that. Thought losin' her was enough for one family, but I guess life had other ideas." He lolled his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. "He used to visit me, sometimes. He'd come around when I was about to fall asleep and tell me not to worry about him, tell me he was better." He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. "Fat load of good that does after I come home and find him in the bathtub, some fancy swimsuit on and drained like a Thanksgivin' turkey."

Blaine gripped the picture with both hands to keep from dropping it. "Drained?"

The man nodded, the light dimming in his eyes. "Both arms, wrist to elbow. Don't even wanna think about how long it took him."

Blaine set the photograph back on the table and took a seat at the edge of the bed. "Do you know why he did it?"

"I dunno," the man said, a rasp entering his voice. "Sometimes, I think it'd be better if I understood. Mostly, I don't think I'd understand even if he told me himself."

Blaine reached out with one hand and brushed it against the man's upper arm. He felt the telltale chill that let him know he'd done his duty, and patted the man's arm as much to warm his own hand as offer some form of comfort. "Even if you don't know why he did it," he said as evenly as he could manage. "I'm sure he loved you. I'm sure he misses you as much as you miss him."

"Hrm," the man said, his face softening. "Don't think that's possible." His eyes drifted shut as Blaine took his hand. "You don't work here, do you?"

Blaine shook his head. "No, sir."

The man nodded his head, a detached contentment spreading over his face. "But you're still here for me, aren't ya?" Blaine tightened his hand around the man's and nodded in turn. "'Bout damn time," he said. "Thank you. If you see my boy, tell him I still love him."

"I will," Blaine said, forcing back tears as he felt the hand go slack and saw the chest still.

Almost instantly, a pale blue garage door appeared where the dresser stood, rising slowly to reveal the shapes of two people standing in the center. "We've been waiting for you," the woman said, twisting her hands together in excitement. "We've been waiting such a long time."

"Oh, Lizzie," a new, more solid version of the man said as he approached the portal and picked her up, swinging her off the floor as he buried his face in her neck. "Are you ever a sight for sore eyes. And you," he said, facing portal-Kurt as he put her down. "I forgot how grown-up you were. Not my little boy, anymore."

"I'll always be your little boy," Kurt's voice came, rough and shaky from the doorway. Both Blaine and the man turned to face him, and Kurt broke into tears as he ran across the room and flung his arms around his father.

"Kurt?" The man looked down into his eyes and stroked Kurt's thick, brown hair. "How can you be here and-"

"I just am," Kurt said, chest heaving and unspeakable pain filling his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry, I-"

"Shhhh..." the man said, giving him a bear hug and stroking the back of Kurt's head. "Can't change the past. We're all gonna be together now. That's what counts."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, placing a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "But he has to go now."

Kurt gave a loud sniff as he backed away. "I know," he said. "I know."

"Hey," the man said, looking to Blaine as he took another step closer to the portal. "You take care of my boy for me, hear?"

"I will," Blaine said, taking Kurt's hand. "I promise."

The man turned back to the other Kurt and the woman Blaine assumed to be his mom. He took them both by the hand and followed them into the garage, beaming brighter than a child on Christmas morning.

"Thank you," Kurt said, once the portal had blinked from view and they were left facing the wall. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the others about this."

"Of course," Blaine said, looking down where their hands were still joined. "Do you want to talk, or-"

"Not yet," Kurt said with a shake of his head. "Maybe after you take me home."

Blaine didn't say anything. He just gave Kurt's hand a squeeze and led him from the room, pausing just long enough to let Kurt press a kiss to his father's forehead.

"Goodbye, Dad," Kurt whispered. "I hope that you've forgiven me."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

True to his word, Kurt spent the drive back to his condo in silence. That much, Blaine had been prepared for. What he hadn't been prepared for was the way Kurt held tight to his hand all the way to the car, and taken it again as soon as they'd left it. He let go again when they reached his door, and didn't say anything as he walked to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "You don't have to drink," he said, handing one to Blaine after they'd been filled. "But I'm going to need this before I can tell you the whole story."

They sank into opposite corners of the sofa and Kurt tucked his feet beneath himself as he took a deep drink from his glass. "I wasn't lying when I told you I had Leukemia, and I wasn't lying when I told you I died soon after I was diagnosed. I just..." he trailed off and ran his thumb along the bottom of his glass. "I didn't tell you the whole truth, either."

Blaine shook his head. "You don't have to-"

"No," Kurt said. "I do. I _want_ to. I-" he took a deep breath and let it out in a rush, looking around the room like he was trying to find a new way out. "I need to tell someone, and I'd like it to be you."

Blaine rested his arm against the back of the couch and propped up his head in his palm. "Okay. I'm listening."

"High school wasn't a good time for me. I had no friends, I was tortured by losers who got away with it, and I couldn't find anyplace that felt safe or secure. All I had was my dad, and I was too young and too stupid to understand how much that really was. All I wanted was to get out of here and find a place where I might not hate waking up every day, so after I graduated, I took two jobs to try and save enough money to move away. I didn't even have a place in mind. New York, San Francisco, Chicago, I just wanted to be someplace better, whatever _better_ was."

Kurt looked inside his glass and bit his lip. "I'm still not sure if I knew or not, on some level. I had explanations for everything, when Dad would ask. I was always tired because I was working at least sixty hours a week. I'd always bruised easily, and both the garage and the coffee shop were easy places to get poked or trip over something when you were in a hurry. The weight was just baby fat and it was about time I lost those pear hips, anyway." He took another sip and shook his head. "It hadn't been that long since we'd lost Mom. I remembered the hospitals, the late nights, the hoping, the worrying, the _everything_ of it. I couldn't stand the thought of Dad having to go through that again. After I finally went to the doctor and everything was confirmed, I knew it was too late. I didn't want to watch Dad go through the heartbreak of watching another person he loved fade away like that, but I also knew I wouldn't be able to beat it. Ending things quickly seemed like the best solution."

"Oh, god," Blaine said, his heart twisting in his chest. "I can't imagine-"

"I know you can't," Kurt said softly. "But I really did think it was an act of kindness. I thought if I ended things early, if I let his last memories of me be when I still looked at least a little like myself, maybe he'd heal a little faster. Maybe he'd be too angry with me to hurt at all." He laughed under his breath. "But I was wrong, and as my punishment, I got the one thing I always feared the most."

Blaine leaned in and brushed a fallen bit of hair from Kurt's face. "What's that?"

Kurt looked up at him and forced a smile. "I never got to leave."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

After the bottle of wine was gone and Kurt's head began to droop, Blaine draped one of Kurt's arms over his shoulders and did his best to lead him toward the bedroom. Once inside, Blaine tried to prop Kurt against the pillows as he turned down one corner of the spangled duvet cover and pulled it down, but it was hard to keep Kurt from falling over. Whether it was the wine or the emotional toll that had Kurt so wiped out, Blaine didn't know, and he was fairly certain it didn't really matter.

"There you go," he said once he'd finally managed to pull back the covers enough for Kurt to slide in. "Let's get you some sleep, okay? I'll pick you up in the morning and give you a ride to Breadstix so we can get your car and-"

"Stay?" Kurt's voice was small as he turned his eyes to Blaine. "Please?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Blaine told him. "Your couch is pretty comfortable and-"

"No," Kurt said, patting the bed beside him. "With me. I-" he swallowed. "I really don't want to be alone right now."

Blaine looked down at him, for the first time looking like the teenager he'd been when he died, and couldn't bring himself to say no. "Alright," he said, kicking off his loafers and sliding under the covers beside Kurt. "I'm here." He took a few breaths, slow and steady as he could manage, and tried not to think about how the bed dipped a few inches away, or how he could smell Kurt's hairspray and the wine they'd both had and how _warm_ the air between them felt.

"While we're on the subject of things I wish weren't true," Kurt said, stretching an arm across Blaine's chest. "There's one more I think I should tell you, but you have to promise not to leave, if I do."

Blaine took a breath and swallowed. "Yes?"

Kurt rolled onto his side and dipped his head until the top brushed Blaine's shoulder. "I'm not jealous of Sebastian, but if there had been another guy talking to you earlier, I think I would have been jealous of him."

"What?" Blaine shook his head and blinked. "What are you-"

"I didn't mean to kiss you last night," Kurt said, half into his pillow as he curled into a ball. "I wanted to, but I didn't know I was going to do it until my lips were on yours and-" He sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

Blaine stretched an arm and carefully draped it around the lump of Kurt beside him. "It's okay. I um, I kind of liked it. What there was of it."

"Really?" Kurt lifted his head and looked at him. Blaine couldn't tell which was more red, Kurt's wine-stained lips, or the rims of his eyes. Of the two, his lips were definitely the one he had the hardest time looking away from.

"Really," Blaine whispered, heart pounding as he moved forward and brought their lips together. Their kiss the night before had been so quick and unexpected, Blaine hadn't had a chance to register anything about it except that it had happened. Tonight, Kurt's lips tasted of salt and wine as they tentatively pressed against his, silently asking permission with every push and pull. "Wow," Blaine said, breathing slowly through his nose when they pulled apart.

"Yeah," Kurt said, curling his head upon Blaine's chest. "Wow."

(\_/)  
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	6. Chapter 6

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Blaine might have felt the knocking before he heard it. _Raprapraprapraprapraprap_, it beat against the door like a hyperactive woodpecker with an agenda. "What the-_shit_," Kurt vaulted from the bed, scrambling over Blaine as his feet found the floor and carried him out of the room in a blur. Blaine pushed back the covers and followed, a heavy weight in his belly when he realized how bright the light pouring in through the window was.

"-won't happen again, I promise. Give me five minutes to pull myself together. I can write out the assignments when I get to the others. I-"

A copper-headed pixie of a woman shook her head and held up a hand just inside the condo's entryway. "Normal events are on hold for today. We have a situation on our hands."

Kurt stumbled on his feet and had to prop himself against the wall. "What kind of situation?" He steadied himself and walked backward to the couch, falling into the same corner he'd occupied the night before.

"Looks like we have more than one," the woman said, lowering herself into the armchair as Blaine entered the room.

Blaine shuffled his feet as he hung back near the couch. "I can go, if-"

"No," the woman said, gesturing for him to sit. "You'll know soon enough."

Kurt took Blaine's hand as he joined him on the couch. "This is Emma. She oversees all activity in our region. She used to head our division before she got promoted."

Blaine nodded his head and gave her his full attention. "It's nice to meet you."

Emma twisted her hands in her lap before straightening her skirt beneath her thighs. "I wish this meeting could be taking place under better circumstances, but yes."

Kurt leaned forward a little. "What do you mean, normal events are on hold?"

Emma took a series of deep breaths, her right heel tapping against the floor in a nervous tic. "We've received word of a crisis situation. We're going to need all hands on deck-External Influence, Natural Causes, Circulatory Systems, Plague, everyone."

All the color drained from Kurt's face. "What are we up against?"

Emma pursed her lips and looked into her lap. "I don't know. Catastrophic is coming in to lead the way."

"Catastrophic." Kurt's voice was hollow as he fell back against the couch, his hand tightening around Blaine's. "Okay. Okay. We'll find the others and regroup when you give the word."

Emma nodded as she rose to her feet. "I'll see you boys later today. I know it's a lot to take in, but no one's selected for this job that can't handle it. The screening process is very strict." Her eyes lingered on Blaine for a few extra seconds before she looked back to Kurt with a grin. "You'll have to fill me in on other things later."

Kurt got up from the couch and followed her to the door. "I'm sure I will."

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Blaine swallowed as he looked around the gymnasium. There were maybe thirty people-reapers, Blaine realized-sitting in the bleachers; at least ten of them in crisp, black outfits and sitting ramrod straight as they gave their full attention to a woman with short, dark curls around a ruddy-cheeked face.

"Listen up," she said, clipboard jutting against one hip as she paced back and forth in front of them on the floor. "We got a level three coming our way in a couple hours. No clues where it's coming from or how it's gonna start, so once we get there, I'm gonna need every one of you to be at the top of your game. No distractions, no dilly-dallying, just find your targets and get it done, got that?" A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd and the woman jerked her head toward the end of the front row. "St. James; you and Corazon start handing out the packets."

A young man with sandy hair and a petite young woman with long, dark brown hair stood, their arms loaded with large, white envelopes. "Berry!" the young man called out, climbing the bleachers and handing one to Rachel when she raised her hand. "Tanaka!" the young woman called, doing the same when the man beside Emma waved her down.

"Wouldn't it be easier if they handed them out alphabetically?" Blaine whispered to Kurt after the young woman had cried _Hummel_ and Kurt had raised his hand.

"Shhhh!" Kurt urged him. "Don't let them hear you say that. Catastrophic _hates_ to be criticized."

"Anderson!" Blaine snapped his head up as the young man handed him the last envelope.

"Thank you," Blaine said, taking the envelope and turning it in his hands.

"You should all have your assignments now," the woman on the floor called out to them. "We got lucky, this time. Because we're limited to one location, Abrams and Chang in Intel were able to get us a little more information than usual. Those of you who've had run ins with Juniors and Seniors will appreciate this." She held up the front page of her clipboard to show a sheet of white paper with a few lines of print to the right of what looked like a enlarged drivers license photo. "We got names, heights, and best of all, we got faces. This'll make everything a lot easier, but don't get too cocky. Thirty-six might not sound like a lot, but we're gonna have more'n a hundred times that on site. Burn those pictures into your brain and keep 'em close, if you think you'll need 'em. If you get yours early, find a buddy and help 'em find theirs. I know some folks say best bet's to find the source of the problem and wait around for your marks to show. Don't. Find 'em early. Take care of 'em before things get too crazy, or you might not get them in time. Remember, we're gonna have gates popping up all over the place, so keep your peepers peeled and make sure everyone gets where they gotta go."

Kurt's face paled even more than usual. "That's almost four thousand people we have to sort through. What place around here can even hold that many?"

Blaine removed a sheet of paper from his envelope and felt a pang of sadness as he looked into the wide, hopeful eyes looking back at him. He looked away before the situation became too much, only to feel all the blood in his body rush to his head as he caught a glimpse of Kurt's assignment. "I think I know the answer."

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(•ㅅ•)

Even at mid-afternoon, the entry gates to the park had a line that stretched more than halfway through the lot. "How many turnstiles do they have open?" Emma asked, standing on tip-toe and craning her neck for a glimpse at the head of the line.

"Two," Blaine said. "The gate has six, but Mister Gerritsen says it costs too much to have them all open."

Emma dropped her heels and wrapped her arms around herself. "I've known some real cheapskates, but nothing like this."

Blaine shrugged. "He's just worried about the park meeting their budget until summer. He says we'll have enough visitors to justify it, then."

Emma waved a hand at the line. "We've been here for over an hour and there must be a hundred people still in front of us. They can justify it _now_."

Kurt eyed Blaine and leaned forward on his walking stick. "If only we knew someone who could get us in another way."

Blaine's eyes zoomed off to a thicket of trees halfway down the park's far gate. "Wait here," he said. "I'll wave you over when I figure out a way to get you in without attracting too much attention. I can't get everyone in, but the two of you should be okay."

Emma tossed a look over her shoulder. "What about Shannon? I think we'd really benefit from having her inside as early as possible."

Blaine paused for only a fraction of a second before he was able to formulate a plan. "Yeah. I can do that. Tell her to pick one more to come along, but make sure they're close to the same size she is." He looked from Emma to Kurt and gave his hand a quick squeeze before he turned to run across the parking lot for the employee entrance. "We've got this under control," he said. "It's going to be okay."

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(•ㅅ•)

"Everyone keeping their eyes open?" Shannon asked, her voice fuzzy from behind a goofy bear's face that matched almost perfectly the one Puck was wearing a few feet away.

"As much as possible," Kurt said, poking at a pointy gray ear with the tip of his walking stick.

Blaine batted a hand to fluff up his tail and pointed at the stick. "Rocky Raccoon doesn't carry a walking stick. You look ridiculous."

Kurt turned to face him, and even without seeing his eyes, Blaine was certain he was being judged. "If I can carry off a giant raccoon costume, the raccoon can carry off a walking stick."

Blaine shrugged, his ears flopping at either side of his face. "I'm just saying people are going to notice. That's all."

Kurt held tight and tapped it against the concrete floor as they filed out of the locker room. "Let them notice. They'll have more important things to worry about, soon enough. I'm not going out there without it."

"Suit yourself," Blaine said as Emma met him at his side.

"You wouldn't happen to know when these were last cleaned, would you?" she asked, visibly cringing beneath layers of synthetic fur and foam.

He shrugged. "A couple of days ago, maybe? They only have two of each costume. One set gets cleaned on Mondays and the other-" Blaine couldn't finish his sentence before he turned to Shannon and grabbed her arm. "Find the others and tell them to go to the amphitheatre. I think that's where everything is going to happen."

Shannon removed his hand and slowly pushed him an arm's length away. "Easy, slow down, punkin. I told you guys, you gotta find everyone before anything goes down or you just end up with chaos on your hands."

"But there might not be enough time," Blaine insisted. "I could be wrong, but if I'm not, at least half the people we're looking for are already there." He took a breath. "I know for a fact at least one of them is."

Shannon, Puck, Kurt, and Emma (or Tumble, Bumble, Rocky, and Sycamore, as they now appeared to be) all turned to face him at the same time. "How do you know that?" Shannon asked.

Blaine tugged one of his mitts down just enough to reach inside his costume's sleeve and pull something out. "Because," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. "Kurt's assignment is going to be on the stage at four o'clock."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Briarpatch!"

Blaine did his best to appear enthusiastic as the children crowding around the amphitheatre's entrance began to swarm him. He couldn't exactly push them aside and say "Sorry, kids. Briarpatch only has time for you if you're on his list, so run along and don't forget to leave your soul before you go," could he?

So _many_ children.

Blaine shut his eyes tight and allowed the awfulness of the situation to fully absorb him for five seconds before opening them. He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

He looked around and took in the others' actions. _Why do so many reapers have to be middle-aged guys?_ Blaine wondered with a groan. All the guys wandering the crowds and scanning the throngs of children as their mothers held them close, too busy fearing the potential boogeymen in front of them to even consider the very real and unknowable horror soon to come.

At the other side of the amphitheatre's entrance, Emma stroked a young girl's hair and complimented her on the bright red bow atop her head. About twenty feet away, Santana broke through a cluster of people, deliberately pressing against everyone's arms as she shoved her way out. Rachel had herself draped against a man Blaine hoped was a single dad, stroking his arm and batting her eyes.

He was trying to spot Kurt when he felt a tugging at his arm. "Mister Briarpatch, can I have your autograph?" The little boy swung himself in a circle as he offered up a square notebook. "Please?"

Blaine's heart stopped when he recognized the round face looking up at him. "Would your old friend Briarpatch ever say no to you?" he asked, lowering himself to one knee and scribbling the words _To my good buddy Brandon. XOXO - Briarpatch_ beside a quick doodle of his furry alter ego.

"Hey!" Brandon said, his eyes lighting up as he read the message. "How did you know my name?"

Blaine wrapped the boy in a hug and patted his back until he felt the ripple and chill of soul leaving flesh. "I know all my friends' names," he said as he pulled away and offered Brandon one of his paws. "Friends forever?"

"Forever!" Brandon said, shaking Blaine's paw until his arm felt like it would turn to jelly. "Maddie and Brooklyn are gonna be so jealous!" he cried, waving the book over his head as he ran away.

"I told you," Kurt's voice said as the giant raccoon returned to Blaine's side. "You're a natural. It's why I picked you for the last one." Blaine turned to him and Kurt dipped his raccoon head to come a little closer. "You care about people. These aren't just items to check off of your To Do list."

Blaine winced. "Of course they're not."

Kurt shook his head. "Not everyone sees it like that. Santana, for example. She's good at what she does, but there are a lot of assignments I won't give her because I know she isn't capable of handling them the way they deserve. I'm not going to worry about that with you, because I know that whoever I give you, you're going to see a person before anything else." He reached down and brushed a paw against Blaine's. "I think I like that about you."

Blaine grinned inside his mask. "Is that all you like about me?"

Kurt sighed. "Don't make me regret saying that."

"Hey," Blaine said, stepping in front of him and doing his best to make eye contact through the costumes' mouths. "I kind of like you, too, if you hadn't noticed."

"Hate to break this up, but we're getting close to zero hour." Shannon looked from one to the other, ending up on Blaine. "You gonna tell us what your theory is?"

"I could be wrong," Blaine said, swallowing thickly. "But I think we're about to see a forest fire."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Once the others had discarded their costumes and rejoined the group outside the amphitheatre, Blaine said a silent prayer to a god he'd never been more unsure of and took his former place beside Leslie on stage.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, taking a step back as he appeared. "Last I heard, they were still trying to find someone to wear that thing."

"New hire," Blaine said, swinging his arms to psych himself up. "Look, we don't have a lot of time-"

"No shit, we don't have a lot of time. Curtain goes up any minute."

"I know," Blaine held up his furry paws and carefully took a step toward her. "Before anything happens, I want to make sure you know everything's going to be okay. Don't panic." He reached out to touch her, but she moved out of range before he could.

"I don't know who you are or what you think I'm here for," Leslie said as the curtain began to rise. "But you do _not_ get to put your hands on me. Do you hear that?"

"Crystal clear," Blaine muttered, throwing his arms into the air as the curtain rose and the crowd began to cheer for the final time.

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

Blaine watched in silent horror as people banged at the gates to the Acorn amphitheatre. Just minutes before, he'd been finishing the Honey Pot Hug number with the others as the pyrotechnics usually reserved for the final show of the night went off behind him and ignited some foam props that were always locked away beforehand. From there, it had been a matter of minutes before acrid smoke filled the air, flames licking and spreading through the amphitheatre and curling around every available surface.

Though Blaine had been right about the fire, he'd been wrong in his reasoning. The costumes, even with traces of cheap vodka still clinging to them from their last cleaning, seemed to resist most of the damage. Parts had melted a bit when they'd come too close to the flames, but for the most part, they remained intact.

Also remaining intact was the retractable roof designed for use during the days when weather conditions might have made sitting on a wood and metal bench for an hour an exercise in misery not even cuddly forest creatures could ease. Smoke billowed beneath it, no more capable of escape than the people trapped below.

"Fuck this shit," Leslie said as she pulled off Sycamore's head and tossed it aside on her way to the control panel tucked in the back corner of the stage. "Fuck this shit, fuck this job, fuck fucking Gerritsen, and fuck _all to hell_ this fucking costume."

"Leslie, no-" Blaine lunged and moved to keep her costume on her, afraid of what could happen if more of her skin was exposed. "You have to keep it-"

"Don't tell me what I have to do," she shot back, turning back to the panel and hitting every button and switch she could find in hopes of retracting the roof. "Gotta be some way to get that damn thing to open up." She coughed hard, her body heaving forward and falling against the wall as Blaine caught up to her. "I'll bet you a million dollars that prick doesn't even have anyone on the security channel to hit the override."

"Leslie," Blaine said again, blinking the smoke from his eyes. "You need to listen to me. You-"

Leslie gave a whoop as one of she hit another switch and the roof began to move with a low rumble above her. "Only thing I have to do," she said, reaching for a nearby ladder that ran up the back wall and into the rafters, "is get my ass out of here, and that's _exactly_ what I'm trying to do!"

Blaine swore under his breath and told himself not to look down as he took hold of the ladder and began to climb after her**. **He'd never been a fan of heights, and he _really _wasn't a fan of them when everything around him was on fire and it was hard to tell if he was having more trouble breathing or seeing. "Don't-" he began, then stopped as Leslie reached the top and crawled over the rafter's edge until she could reach out and climb onto the edge of the roof. "I know you're scared," he told her as he did his best not to look down on his way to join her. "I would have been, too, if I'd seen it coming. Maybe I was lucky. I-" He threw off his mask and tossed it to the stage beneath him, knowing it was too late to worry about anyone getting hurt. "I want to thank you."

Leslie wobbled as she involuntarily leaned forward, and Blaine reached out to help her steady herself. "Casper? I thought you were on the face painting thing."

"Yeah," Blaine said, trying to get a good enough grip on her arm to take care of her before she fell or the costume burned all the way through or something else he couldn't even begin to imagine happened. "I changed my mind. Here," he said, pulling her with him as he scooted further back on the roof, making their position a little less precarious. "You're far enough from the fire now," he said, tugging the velcro of her costume until it fell open little by little and she was able to wriggle it down to her waist. She braced her arms against the roof and kicked her legs until it fell completely off, leaving her in just a pair of tiny shorts and a tank top in the late spring sun.

"Alright," she yelled over the noise. "Turn around and I'll do you."

Blaine shook his head. "It's too late for me." _It's too late for you_, he thought sadly. "But I wanted to help you like you helped me."

"What did I ever do for you?" Leslie asked. "All I did was tell you this place was hiring." She looked around and coughed, the smoke from down below still thick in the air around her. "If I were you, I'd be _pissed_ at me right now."

"No," Blaine said, surging forward and finally grabbing firm hold of her arm. "A week ago, you stayed with me when no one else did. I saw you. I _heard_ you. You waited with me. After the...accident."

Leslie's eyes went wide as something in her perception clearly changed. "_Blaine_?" He nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. "What-how?"

"There isn't time," he said, trying not to think of how much quieter the screams had gotten, how much colder the air seemed to be. "I want you to know it's going to be okay. What's going to happen to you, it isn't bad. It's just different, and that's okay." The structure beneath them creaked, and Blaine swallowed as he pushed himself slowly toward the roof's outer edge. "We can't stay up here much longer," he said, grateful he didn't have to explain further before she followed his lead.

Leslie looked down at the destruction below and took his hand. "What now?"

Blaine looked over the roof's edge and wrapped his arms around her. "Now, we hold on tight."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

They broke apart as they hit the ground with a thud so hard Blaine's teeth clacked together, and he saw stars for a good few seconds once he'd managed to open his eyes. His entire right side was in agony, though he was relieved to find Leslie still more or less in the same shape she'd been in when they'd jumped. "You okay?"

"As okay as I can be," Leslie said, taking to her feet and dusting herself off. "I don't-" she stopped and narrowed her eyes. "What are _you_ doing here?" she asked, storming across to the nearest tree.

Sebastian grinned as he leaned against it, carrot smoothie firmly in hand. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Leslie planted her feet and leaned into him with a ferocity that would have frightened most jungle cats. "You were fucking around backstage before the show." The muscles in her arms and legs went taut as she looked up at him, chin jutting forward and jaw firm. "You didn't have a badge, and that means you weren't supposed to be there, and I'mma' bet _that_-" She pointed toward the amphitheatre. "-and the jammed gates, is your doing."

Sebastian took a sip from his smoothie. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell, you don't." Kurt appeared from behind with his walking stick clutched tightly in both fists. "I should have gone with my gut."

"Oh, come on," Sebastian said, head tilting to the side as his lips spread into a smirk across his face. "You could stand to lose a few pounds, but it's hardly worth calling a _gut_."

"You know what I'm talking about," Kurt said, pulling slowly at the raven atop his cane to reveal a thin, silver blade that Sebastian eyed with cool amusement. "How long have you been like this?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "What do you want? Some sob story about how Mommy didn't love me and Daddy didn't have time for me?"

"I don't give a shit what your parents thought about you," Kurt said, his voice ice as he backed Sebastian up against the tree and pressed the blade to his throat. "I didn't want to believe it when I saw you at the funeral. I tried telling myself if I didn't like you, it was because you stank of stale amyl nitrate and probably wouldn't know the word _subtle_ if it bitchslapped you with a twelve inch dildo." He moved in closer, the blade pressing against Sebastian's Adam's apple without breaking the skin. "Then, I tried telling myself it was because you were after Blaine. I almost believed that one, but something about that twisted look in your eyes..." His words trailed off as Sebastian's smirk disappeared, eyes glinting on Kurt's with equal venom. "How long have you been like this?" Kurt asked again.

"A few months," Sebastian answered coolly. "Happy?"

"No." Kurt's eyes narrowed. "How many people have you killed before now?"

"Only one." Sebastian laughed as he turned his eyes to Blaine. "But I think I made it count."

"You son of a-" Blaine surged forward, faltering when pain shot up his side. "Is that why you've been popping up everywhere?"

Sebastian's grin returned, wider than before. "No. That was just for fun after I realized how cute you were." He raised an eyebrow. "Offer still stands."

"Fuck you," Blaine said, taking to his knees and clutching his ribs as Leslie rubbed at his shoulders. "I'd tell you to drop dead, but I think it's too good for you."

"Lucky for us," Kurt said, taking a step forward and tensing his arms. "That part's already been dealt with." His wrist moved in a smooth curl, the blade sweeping across Sebastian's throat in a smooth line. A fog of poison green smoke flowed out from the cut and spread over his form until it disappeared completely, leaving a twisted creature covered in scales and hissing at Kurt's thigh. "Go," Kurt said evenly. "Get out of here."

The creature's mouth opened wide, giving one last hiss before it vanished with a wisp. "I am holding on to a dead boy and I just saw a preacher make a skinny beanpole turn into a baby from the Black Lagoon," Leslie said in a daze. "I don't know what the fuck is gonna happen next but I don't know if I can take it."

"But there's one more thing." Kurt slid the blade back into his cane and tossed it aside before kneeling before Leslie and taking her by the hand. "Do you remember the person in the Rocky suit giving you a high five before the show?" Leslie nodded, and Kurt motioned for her to kneel with him. "I was the one in the suit, Leslie. I'm not a preacher. I'm not an evangelist, I'm-" he took a breath and bit his lip. "I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news."

Leslie's face crumpled when she followed his eyes and saw her body, lying in a broken heap beside the wall. Her limbs were bent at all the wrong angles, her head almost backward on her neck. "Oh, hell," she said, falling against him with a hollow expression. "I really thought it was gonna be okay."

She began to cry, and Kurt held her tight. "You will be," he said, smoothing the tight curls that hung around her face. "I promise, you're going someplace wonderful. Someplace where you won't ever have to worry, and-"

Leslie looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes. "I don't care about _me_. I'm crying for my babies. For Darnell, and Patrice, and Julisa. Julisa isn't even five years old, how's she gonna deal with losing her mom when her dad's already left so long ago she wouldn't know him if she saw him?"

Kurt rocked her gently and continued to smooth her hair. "You have to have faith. You have to believe they'll be okay, that's all. Your mom takes care of them when you're at work, doesn't she? You've said that at the restaurant, I remember." Leslie nodded. "She's going to be there for them, I promise. They're going to grow up safe, and cared for, and they are going to be so loved and know their mom loved them back, and-" he broke off, his own eyes growing too wet to see. "Faith," he whispered to her. "Have faith."

"Just when we thought there were no more surprises," Blaine said, his voice soft as he stared just off to the side, not believing what had just appeared. Portals were springing up all around them, reapers from the Catastrophic division helping to move people through as quickly as they could. Birthday parties, rock concerts, Olympic stadiums, presidential inaugurations, Academy Award podiums-any dream you could possibly imagine, there was a portal that reflected it, and sometimes more than one.

The one that had Kurt and Blaine in such shock, however, was the one standing inches from Leslie's body. To either side, a tall tree stood, lush with leaves and thick with branches. Oversized toadstools dotted the landscape between them, and right in the center, a white rabbit sat perched on the biggest one. "Hello, Blaine." Briarpatch waved a furry paw. "We've been waiting for you."

Blaine shook his head. "No," he said. "Not yet. I'm not-"

"You don't get a choice," Kurt said, looking up at him as Leslie lay cradled in his arms.

Blaine swallowed. "But what if I do? Come on." He urged Leslie to her feet and led her to the portal, hoping for everything, but trying to prepare for nothing. "Excuse me," he said, addressing his childhood hero directly. "If I understand how this works, this thing, when I walk through it, is going to take me where I want to be more than anything else, right?" Briarpatch nodded, floppy ears batting about his face. "Well," Blaine said, taking one hand from around Leslie and reaching out for Kurt. "What if I can't do that in there?"

Kurt took Blaine's hand and bowed his head. "Blaine...what are you-"

"Please," Blaine asked. "I'm not asking for my life back. I'm only asking to serve you a little longer, and ask you to let my friend go." Leslie looked at him in shock, and Blaine searched her eyes for permission. "We haven't known each other long, or well, but Leslie-she's a good person, and she's worked hard all her life. She's been working two jobs for years, on top of raising her kids. Please," he said, his voice breaking. "Let me take her place here. Give her a chance to rest, and let her have some happiness."

Briarpatch rose from the toadstool and walked right up to the portal's edge. "What do you gain from this?"

Blaine met the bunny's eye and held it steady "A second chance," he said. "To do something that matters, and help people who need it, and maybe-" he chanced a look at Kurt over his shoulder. "Maybe a chance to enjoy some things I didn't give myself enough time for in the past."

The bunny's ears flattened, melting into him as he grew tall and thin, a hooded figure with skeletal fingers clasped as its head lowered in Leslie's direction."What do you have to say to this?" In the portal, the figure stepped aside as three smaller figures approached.

"Oh, my babies," Leslie said, eyes wide and hand flying to her mouth.

The figure clasped its hand once more and bowed its head. "The choice is hers."

Without a word, Leslie extracted herself from Kurt's grasp and moved toward the portal. "If I go here, I get to be with my babies?" The figure nodded, and she turned to look at Blaine. "What happens if I stay?"

Blaine gestured around them. "You get to do this. You'll lead people from one thing to the next; help them on their path and help them find peace."

She paused. "For how long?"

Blaine shook his head. "Everyone's different. No one knows until their time comes; it's just like life, that way."

Leslie looked to her children inside the portal and back to Blaine. "You really want to stay?" Blaine nodded again, and her face split into the first real smile he'd ever seen on her. "Okay," she said, taking a few steps to kiss his forehead. "You do what you think you gotta do. I'll see you again when you change your mind."

"I'll look forward to it," Blaine said, tightening his grip on Kurt's hand as she took the figure's hand and stepped from one world to the other. She had just enough time to turn and give him one last wave, then disappear from view.

"So," Kurt said, filling his lungs with air and slowly letting it out. "I don't think that's ever happened, before."

"Well," Blaine said, brushing his nose against Kurt's cheek. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"Here we go," Kurt said, helping Blaine through the front door of his little house. "No lasting damage done, but I think you're going to be sore for a few hours."

Blaine groaned as his shoulder bumped against the door frame. "Just promise me I get to sleep in a real bed and no one's going to scare me awake."

Kurt smiled as he maneuvered Blaine around the couch. "I'll do my best." He stopped in place, holding Blaine's back against his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have assumed-"

Blaine rested his head on Kurt's shoulder. "Stay."

Kurt ran a hand up Blaine's arm and nodded. "Okay." He led him through the hall and into the bedroom, lowering him onto the bed as if a wrong move might break him. "How do you feel?"

Blaine dug his head against the pillows and closed his eyes. "I don't think I've ever been in this much physical pain before." He opened one eye and looked up at Kurt. "But on the whole, I'd say I'm better than I've been in a long time."

"I'm glad." Kurt crawled onto the other side of the bed and placed a hand on Blaine's chest.

"Kurt?"

"Yes, Blaine?"

Blaine twisted his neck to look at Kurt. "What was that thing, earlier? That..what did Leslie call it?"

"Baby from the Black Lagoon."

"Yeah, that."

Kurt took a breath and sat up, picking at the quilt that covered them. "I know you haven't forgotten what it was like to hear the old man's soul locked inside his body-" Blaine shuddered at the memory and scooted closer in response. "How would you feel if I told you that's the _best_ result you can hope for if a person's soul isn't removed on time?"

Blaine's face went pale and his stomach turned in knots. "The _best_?"

Kurt nodded solemnly. "Most of the time, refusing to take someone's soul on time doesn't prevent them from dying. It leaves them trapped the same way Herman was, waiting for someone to let them out. It's probably the closest thing to a Hell there is, but there's something a lot worse." Kurt bit his lip as he looked away. "On rare occasions, leaving an expired soul inside a body will prevent it from stopping according to schedule. The body will continue to move about and act almost like a human being for a while, but if it isn't dealt with early on, it'll soon begin to rot."

Blaine pulled back in horror. "You mean like a zombie?"

"Don't be ridiculous, you know zombies aren't real." Kurt paused to consider his words. "It's the soul that rots, and it feeds off the body as it does. As the body gets eaten away from the inside out and becomes little more than a shell, the soul takes a new, twisted shape inside." He flicked his eyes to Blaine and shrugged. "It looks real enough from the outside, but it's less substantial than a balloon, all but disappearing once it's been destroyed."

Blaine wrinkled his brow. "Did someone we know do that to him?"

Kurt shook his head. "If they had, I would have heard about it before we met him. As boring as it is, it was probably just an oversight. Maybe his destined cause of death was supposed to be something that didn't fit neatly into one division or another, and he fell through the cracks. Became what he was, just like thousands before him."

"I thought you said they didn't happen often."

"They don't," Kurt replied. "Think of the billions of people who've lived throughout time. Now think of every serial killer, every warmonger, every person who ever set out to inflict mass suffering on the world. Almost every one of them was a soul that lived past its prime. It's why those people almost never stop until someone stops _them_."

Blaine propped himself up on one hand. "So when you...killed him, that thing that hissed at us was his soul?"

"What it had turned into, yes." Kurt looked up to the ceiling. "It's called a Graveling. Once they're released, they work for Death just like we do. Their job is different-even Death has a sense of humor-but it's still just a job."

"And Death can't tell them what to do while body and soul are still connected," Blaine said, finally making sense of everything.

"Exactly," Kurt said, running a hand over Blaine's hair and bending down to kiss his forehead. "See? I told you you were a natural at this."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

That night, wrapped in Kurt's arms, Blaine dreamed of a winter sidewalk. All around him, winds blew hard enough to lift things off the ground, including the puffball of a dog the woman in front of him was trying to take for a walk. Blaine tried to move forward, but when he did, his feet refused to touch the ground.

He fought it at first, trying to force himself down and swearing when his steps only carried him higher. Like climbing an invisible staircase, he walked through the air until the trench coat he was wearing billowed up around him, his hat lifting clear off his head.

The ridiculousness of his situation dawned on him, and he laughed at fighting so hard to remain grounded when the skies were his for the taking. He kicked off his shoes, threw the coat off his shoulders, and swam through the air until he reached the highest cloud in the sky.

When he got there, Kurt sat in the middle, beckoning him near. "I waited a long time for you," he said against Blaine's ear. "I'm so happy you're finally here."

(\_/)  
(•ㅅ•)

"So this is it," Kurt said the next morning when the Studebaker pulled up to Der Wafflehaus.

"First day of the rest of my afterlife," Blaine said, squeezing his hand. "I'm glad you're here to see me through."

"I won't always be," Kurt said, the smile on his lips fading just a hint.

"I know," Blaine said, lifting Kurt's hand and giving it a kiss. "But until then, let's live each day like it's our last. I think we can both appreciate the value in that."

Kurt nodded as he climbed out of the car. "More than ever."

"So," Blaine said when they reached the restaurant's doors. "Think the others know we've spent the last two nights together?"

Kurt reached out to straighten Blaine's tie. "If they don't, they'll figure it out soon enough." He paused. "The fact that I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes might give them an idea."

"And you look as fabulous as always." Blaine leaned in and gave him a kiss. "Do you have today's assignments?"

Kurt held up a manila envelope. "Emma brought it by while you were in the shower. Nothing gets by her."

"I like her," Blaine said, sliding his arm around Kurt's waist as they entered the building. "I hope I can get to know her better."

"I think she'd like that," Kurt said, taking his hand and leading him to their usual table. "Everyone sleep well?"

"Like the dead," Santana snarked, red lips curling into a grin a second later.

"Good," Kurt said, setting the envelope on the table. "Then let's begin."

**_the end_**


End file.
